


Watch The Skies, Traveler

by orphan_account



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, ArchMage!Lydia, Companion!Derek, Crossover, Dark Brotherhood!Peter, Dragonborn!Stiles, F/F, Freelancer!Laura, Huntress!Allison, I just really wnated a Skyrim AU okay, Jarl!Lydia, M/M, Major Character Death- but not really because afterlife, Priestess!Kate, Stables Boy!Isaac, Stormcloak!Scott, Thieves Guild! Cora, companion!boyd, companion!erica
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:53:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants to see all that Skyrim has to offer, Derek gets dragged along as his fearsome protector. Scott is stuck with guard duty and Isaac is a terrible criminal. Lydia has rebuilt Winterhold into her own Empire and Allison just wants a place to call home. The Hales were all supposedly killed off by the Silver Hands years ago, but the Dark Brotherhood has a new assassin, the Thieves guild have a new master thief and a mysterious unnamed hero is spreading justice across Skyrim. Meanwhile Erica and Boyd are happily enjoying their courtship and being badass warriors, and judging Derek's life choices in their spare time.</p><p>With all this happening in Skyrim how does anyone have time to schedule in dragons?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hail Companion

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Basically I really wanted a skyrim au and decided to write one myself. All comments are welcome.

Stiles counts the gold he made for the day, working the wheat mill at Pelagia’s farm is harder than it looks, only 20 septims. It’s been difficult for everyone to earn any coin with the current war going on. Stiles doesn’t really care who wins, he just wants the fighting to stop and for everyone to have the freedom to worship whoever they wish.

He makes his way up the steps through Whiterun to the small house he shares with his father. He empties the 20 septims into a coin purse on the dining table, and finds his father in the kitchen.

“How was your day, son? Make much coin?”

Stiles approaches his father wearily. “Only 20 septims today.” He pulls nervously at his cheap clothes. “You know I’ve been thinking about travelling for a while now...”

“Not this again. We’ve been over this Stiles. It’s too dangerous. The roads are infected with bandits, and the wild animals out there are vicious, half the land is a warzone and now there’s rumours of dragons! I’d love for you to see all of Skyrim, son I really would, but I’m worried for you.”

Stiles sighs. This isn’t the first time he’s tried to convince his father to let him travel. He’s dreamt of visiting the other holds, and seeing all the amazing wildlife, but he’s only read books on such things. Sometimes he convinces one of The Companions to share their stories and he listens to their tales with eager ears. But the main reason he wants to travel now is because their running low on coin. With his father being the Chief Guard he doesn’t have time to do extra little jobs for a few spare septims, and now with the war on he’s being worked to the bone.

“What if I found a way to ensure my safety, would you let me travel then?”

Chief Stilinski let out a sigh and shook his head, “What did you have in mind?”

Stiles grins from ear to ear, “A travelling buddy!”

“Who’re you gonna convince to travel with you? Scott left to join the Stormcloaks a month ago, and Lydia left for the College of Winterhold 6 months ago. And even if you do find someone, I’m not letting you go unless they have adequate combat skills.”

Knowing this is the best offer he’s going to get, Stiles lets out a victorious shout. “I’ll look for someone tomorrow! They’ll be a great warrior and battle anyone who opposes me! We’ll leave fear and awe everywhere we go-“

“Alright Stiles, that’s enough for one night, why don’t you head to bed?”

Stiles skips joyously up to his room and only just catches his father muttering, “By The Nine help whatever poor soul falls into his clutches”

-

The next day Stiles is sent to collect some mead from Honningbrew Meadery. He’s making his way down the cobblestone path when he hears a loud ruckus; throaty grunts, large feet connecting with the ground and the disturbingly audible sound of metal tearing flesh. Some would call it brave, most would call it stupid, Stiles has no concern for the fact that he’s running towards the sound of battle.

Just outside the Meadery there’s a giant waving his club around and roaring in protest. Stiles has never seen a giant before, he’s definitely read about them though, and he can’t help the crazed grin that paints itself on his face. He runs to get a better look at the fascinating creature, right when an armoured woman leaps into the air and drives a sword straight through the giant’s chest.

Stiles skids to a halt in abject horror. He watches wide eyed as the woman regroups with a bunch of other people. He realises that they’re some of The Companion’s, he can’t recognise any of them with their helmets on, but he recognises their armour.

“What’re you ogling at Breton?” One of the women asks.

“I..uh, you killed it?” Stiles is too shocked to attempt to not sound like a babbling lunatic at this point.

“With no help from you.” The woman looks annoyed with Stiles’ very existence, which is uncalled for as he was just sent here to get some mead.

“Easy Erica, I’ll handle things from here. You and the others can head back to Jorrvaskr.”

The woman, named Erica, huffs and starts walking back up the cobble road with the rest of the group.  The man who told Erica to stop looks concerned, which is an impressive feet when wearing a leather helmet. In fact his whole set of armour is leather, and it looks unfairly good on his strongly built frame.

“Stiles, what are you doing out here?”

“How do you know my name?”

The man takes off his helmet, and by The Nine it’s Derek Hale. He’s the newest member of The Companions, and who Stiles has been trying to convince to share his stories of battle for a long time, but to no avail. He’s also the most attractive man in Whiterun; even a skeever would try to woo him.

“Remember me now?”

Stiles has to grin at that, “Will you tell me one of your stories now, since I was present for half of one?”

Derek sighs and sends Stiles one of his trademark glares. “No. What are you doing out here?”

Stiles holds up his hands in defence, “No need to make it sound like a crime, I’m just out here to pick up a mead delivery.”

“Your father wouldn’t be happy with you being all the way out here.”

Stiles is about to defend his glorious honour when he has a brilliant idea.

“You’re right Derek, but I did strike up a deal with him yesterday. He’ll let me travel the vast wonders of Skyrim if I have a companion who can adequately defend me. And what better than an official Companion?”

Derek crosses his arms, “You want me to follow you around while you go frolicking after torchbugs?”

“Well I was actually thinking of visiting Scott up in Windhelm, and then seeing how Lydia’s doing over in Winterhold, and then visiting all the other holds, but we can frolic after torchbugs too if you want.”

“By Talos, you are going to be the death of me.”

“Joining me on my travels is actually supposed to prevent that from happening.”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, and seems to be having some great inner Nord battle with himself. After a lot of gruff muttering he seems to come to a conclusion.

“Fine I’ll join you, but only because Erica and Boyd have been driving me crazy lately.”

“Yes! I knew you’d agree. Come on let’s go bid my father farewell.”

Derek furrows his very eloquent black brows at him.

“We’re leaving right now?”

“Why not? Anything you need to do before we go?”

Derek looks baffled, but slightly impressed, “I guess not.”

Stiles races off towards the gates of Whiterun. He can hear Derek’s heavy footfall behind him and grins, because he convinced Derek the big fearful Companion to follow him. As they reach the gates, the guards eye them cautiously.

“Companion, is this lad bothering you?”

Derek huffs, “Yes, but I can handle it thank you guards.”

“Rude.”

They enter through the gates, and run into the Guard’s Barracks. Stiles’ father looks surprised to see him, and even more surprised to see Derek with him.

“Derek I’m am very sorry for whatever it is my son has done.”

What in Oblivion? “I haven’t done anything wrong. Why does everyone assume that the only reason Derek could be following me is if I’ve disrespected the law.”

Derek smirks, “Because it’s the only believable reason.”

Next time Stiles has a sweet roll he is not sharing it with Derek.

“So Derek, why are you following my son?”

“Because he somehow convinced me to travel with him.”

Stiles thoroughly enjoys the look of awe and disbelief that cross his father’s face. But he also feels a pang in his gut for leaving his dad here all alone. He wishes his mother to be alive so she could look out for him, if only she hadn’t been out at the farm when some hunters had ticked off a mammoth.

“So I’m here to bid you farewell and good luck with the war. And I already told the guards to make sure you don’t eat too many sweet rolls.”

His father pulls him in for a tight hug. “Be careful out there, and try to write me some time.”

Stiles pulls away and steps back, he turns to Derek “Ready?”

“Lead on.”

Just as they turn to leave, Stiles’ father pulls Derek to the side, hushed words are exchanged and then they’re being sent on their way.They walk out the gates of Whiterun and a shiver of excitement glides down Stiles’ spine. Stepping forward to begin the big journey ahead of him, Stiles is stopped by one of Derek’s muscular arms.

“Wait. Before we leave, do you have anything to defend yourself with?”

“Uh... I have an apple pie, 15 healing potions, the clothes and boots I’m wearing, and I know a healing spell.”

“No weapons. Okay, here take this.” Derek hands him an iron sword.

Stiles unsteadily takes hold of the sword, and holds it up ready for attack. “Swords are expensive, I can’t take this from you.”

“The Companions have too many swords, trust me, keep it.”

Stiles grins, and sheaths the sword. He takes his first step on his new journey and can almost smell the potential for great adventures, maybe by the time he gets back to Whiterun there’ll be bards singing of his quests.

Stiles and Derek stride down the path past all the little guard perches. As they pass the last perch a guard calls out to them, but Stiles misses what he says. He stops and turns to face man, an unsettling feeling in the air.

“What was that?”

The blank uniform mask turns to him, and pauses dramatically for an uncomfortable amount of time. Then the man behind the mask speaks in a grave voice.

“Watch the skies traveller.”

-

Stiles doesn’t speak the whole way to the directive signpost and anyone who knows him is well aware that that is a rare occurrence. The only reason he hasn’t uttered a word to Derek, who has been silently walking beside him, is that his mind is running n overdrive. What the guard said is starting to get to him. He’s read about great battles with dragons, he likes the prophecy of The Last Dragon Born; an epic downward spiral only to be uplifted by the last in the line of those blessed by Akatosh with the blood of dragons

He can’t bare his brain stewing any longer.

“So, Derek, where do you stand on the dragon rumours?”

Derek raises a brow at him, “What do you mean, where do I stand on it?”

Stiles sighs, “Do you think dragons are real?”

Derek seems to think about his answer thoroughly, “Well, yes, but they’ve been dead since the last Era.”

Stiles nods and accepts this, it is a pretty sound fact to accept. They carry on walking, and a thought creeps up on him. A small thought, tiny, a little wisp of a thing. But ice wraiths are tine and they can kill Nords like they’re but mere rabbits. The thought bothers him enough that it finds his verbal controls and brings itself into existence.

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

Derek actually stops to look at him. His face cast under a somber shadow. “I hope they do not. But I fear the dark times Skyrim is facing may darken.”

They don’t speak much after that, continuing their path up the cobblestone road. Derek has to snatch his collar in a firm grip before he tries to get a better look at one of the giant’s camps.

“They have pet mammoths! That is endearing, why do people kill them?”

Derek huffs and stalks up the path grumbling, “Because they harass famers and have killed innocent travellers.”

Stiles frowns, he still thinks the giants look like peaceful mammoth farmers. As they make their way up to Honningbrew Meadery Stiles suddenly remembers he has a job to do. He reaches out to grip Derek’s arm, the man in question spins around to question him.

“I forgot to get the mead delivery earlier! You wouldn’t mind helping would you?”

Derek just sighs and walks up to Honningbrew’s door. Two crates full of delicious mead await them on the doorstep. Stiles bends down and has to steady his stance before carefully heaving one crate up into his arms. Meanwhile, Derek just lifts up the crate with one hand and swiftly tucks it under one of his muscular arms.

Stiles glares enviously at him as they make their way back towards Pelagia’s Farm. Stiles has to waddle his way down the path like a drunken soldier while Derek strides along like one of the divines. That man is too perfect for his own good.

“I didn’t peg you for being a mead delivery boy.”

Stiles chuckles wryly. “Yea well I didn’t think you’d join me on my adventures.”

They leave it at that, and make quick work of dropping off the mead. Stiles receives a coin purse with 10 gold in it, it’s not much but he’ll take what he can get.

They start back down the path, the sun is still high in the sky so they could probably make it to Windhelm around midday tomorrow.

“So this friend of yours that we’re visiting, what’s he like?”

Stiles is surprised Derek’s choosing to start a conversation with him, but he’s happy to talk about Scott any day.

“Scott and I have been best friends since we could walk, we would run around playing tag all day. When we got older we started causing trouble, we’d go around stealing people’s sweet rolls, and the guards always had to keep an eye out for us. Scott’s father left when we were still young so he had to start working all the time to help out his mother. He left recently to join the Stormcloaks, which I find funny since he’s an imperial.”

Stiles looks over to Derek who is listening intently.

“Where do you stand on the war?”

The question doesn’t seem to affect Derek like it would if he were a soldier, “I just want to be able to worship Talos, and I don’t want the Thalmor trying to take over Skyrim like they own the place. I agree with the Stormcloaks, but they’re racist remarks are just going to start wars.”

Stiles is surprised, and a bit proud. He thought Derek would be one of those ‘Skyrim belongs to the Nords’ people. He’s about to express his gratitude when Derek ducks down into a crouch all of a sudden and presses himself up against the side of a rocky hill.

“Get down!” He whisper shouts.

Stiles complies, “Why are we hiding?”

“Because there’s a necromancer up there.” He jerks a thumb up at the top of the hill. “Follow me.”

Derek starts to sneak slowly down the path, keeping an eye on the hill. Stiles catches some flashing lights sparking around the top, he gets to his feet to try and get a better look. Derek tackles him and presses his hand over Stiles’ mouth.

“What did I tell you?” Derek’s hazel eyes look angry and scared.

Stiles pushes Derek’s hand away, “What are you doing!?”

“I promised your father I’d keep you safe. So do as I say and stay safe.”

Derek pulls Stiles to his feet, and they continue to sneak around the hill unnoticed. They right themselves and continue walking. Stiles can’t help but glance back at the hill.

“Why is a necromancer up there anyway?”

“There’s a standing stone up there. It’s the ritual stone, perfect for a necromancer. But the stones don’t give their power to just anyone, so she’s probably trying to access it’s power.”

Stiles’ jaw hangs loose. “The standing stones really work? I thought they were just legends.”

“I believe the stones work, but they only give power to honourable men and women.”

Stiles can’t help the goofy grin that takes over his face. He may not be able to get Derek to talk about his tales of battle, but he’s enjoying the theories he’s hearing. Walking down the road they pass a few other travellers, and Derek shares some of the mead he brought with him. They’re laughing with the mead in their system when they spot a castle in the distance. It’s built on the edge of a cliff , a small structure that probably used to be a watch tower. As they approach two guards at the entrance become visible, and judging from their hide armour they’re bandits.

“Come on, I bet we can take them.” Stiles stumbles ahead getting ready to charge.

Derek yanks him back by his collar. “No. You couldn’t even take one of them, and they’re bandits. Stiles I prefer you alive, so we’re just going to walk by them like the innocent travellers we are.”

Stiles thinks that’s ridiculous, bandits need to be taught a lesson. No one should have the right to harass, rob, and kill people for no good reason. But Stiles bites his tongue and follows Derek up the road to the castle. For a second Stiles thinks they’re going to make it past the bandits free of harassment, but to no avail.

“Oi! Milk drinkers, pay up or die!” A fierce Redguard woman barks at them.

“I ain’t no-!” Stiles is cut off by Derek’s hand on his shoulder.

“Just let us pass, and no one has to get hurt.” Stiles can’t believe Derek just sad that to a group of filthy coldblooded bandits.

The bandits just laugh in his face and draw their swords. Derek spins around and pushes Stiles backwards.

“Run! Hide until I come back!”

Despite his messed up survival instincts that are telling him to stay and fight Stiles runs. He runs all the way down the road and hides just inside the tree line. He can see the castle from here, but he can’t really see what’s happening. The two guards are already lying dead outside.  Derek may be a good warrior, a great warrior even, but there’s no way even he can fight off a whole clan of bandits. A roar erupts from inside the castle, and Stiles decides that’s his cue.

He leaps out from the trees and sprints down to the castle. He cautiously crosses the narrow concrete bridge, and watches in awe as a bandit flies out the window to plummet to his death. Stiles makes quick work of running up the wooden steps, passing dead bandits, all the way to the top. He finds Derek on the ground heaving, his armour mysteriously absent.

Stiles has never been much of a magic user, and is honestly not very good at it. But being a Breton means he’s naturally gifted and his mother was a Wood Elf and a healer. She taught him a few things, and Stiles has never really used them before, but desperate times and all that.

He holds his hands out over Derek, and summons his restoration magic. His hands start to glow gold with the healing hands spell. He takes s a deep breath and aims the spell at Derek. Derek’s skin starts to shimmer gold with the magic flowing through him and he pulls himself up from the ground. Stiles magicka runs out and he stumbles back his head spinning with exhaustion. He falls back against the castle wall and stares up at the cloudy sky letting out a contented sigh.

Derek’s looming in front of him, and Stiles doesn’t know how long he’s been there. His hazel eyes look worried.

“Stiles. Are you okay?”

Oh right. He collapsed without an explanation. “Yeah, just tired. Using magic really takes it out of me.”

“You didn’t listen to my instructions. But thanks, for healing me.”

“No problem. And following instructions isn’t my strong point.” Stiles stares at him wondering for a moment. “You’re not mad. Most Nords despise magic, why don’t you?”

Derek sighs and sits himself down next to Stiles, his warm body pressed up against Stiles. He takes a moment to think about his answer, looking up at the sky.

“My family was close with the elves. We traded with them, and helped out any refugees. They’re kind people, and their magic is very useful. All those wars between Nords and Elves has made everyone corrupt with prejudice. One day my people will learn that the wars haven’t been against Elves as a whole, just the few who we have had conflict with.”

Stiles wishes more Nords were like Derek. Maybe it’s just the way he was brought up, but Skyrim needs more Nords like him. Stiles pulls out his bedroll and tucks himself in. He stares up at Derek wondering how this man is not a Jarl or at least a Thane.

“My mother...” Stiles takes a shuddering breath, he doesn’t talk about his mother much, “she was a Bosmer. She was the town healer, she used to teach me her spells. It’s the only magic I know. I miss her a lot, she used to heal injured animals and help any children that fell over playing.”

Stiles feels his eyes begin to water, so he wipes them quickly. “Anyway, let’s talk about you, and the fact that you miraculously wiped out a bandit clan single handed.”

Derek shakes his head with a sigh. He pulls out his bedroll and tucks himself in right next to Stiles.

“I’ll tell you how I did it, one day, but not today.” Derek rolls over and leaves Stiles to mull over that ominous promise.

“Be as mysterious as you want Derek, but I’ll never forget that promise.”

Stiles fell asleep that night on top of an old abandoned castle, a fearless warrior at his side and the rotting corpses of a bandit clan surrounding him from below. He is living in a fairytale; a harmonious composition of magical and gruesome.

-

The next morning they wake up bright and early and start walking as soon as possible. The road is peaceful early in the morning, birds chirping high in the tree tops, wide open plains filled with galloping deer and the warmth of the morning sun wrapping around them like a cosy blanket.

They pass a pair who claim to be ‘Vigilants of Stendarr,’ as they storm past in their robes Stiles can’t help but make a comment.

“Who stole their sweet roll?”

Derek rolls his eyes. “They hunt Daedra and undead creatures. But really they’re just self righteous priests killing anything they deem to be evil.”

“Prejudiced bastards.”

That earns Stiles a smile from Derek so he calls that a win.

As they approach the city Stiles realises there’s been a serious lack in wild beasts. Most travellers complain about at least one animal attack when they reach their destination.

“Do you think it’s strange that we haven’t encountered any wild animals?”

As if on cue a wolf leaps onto the road in front of them and starts running at them. Derek shoves Stiles behind him, and honest to god growls at the wolf. Stiles peaks over Derek’s leather clad shoulder and watches as the wolf whines and trots off into the forest.

“How did you do that?”

Derek looks reluctant about answering. “It’s an old family trick.”

“Can you teach it to me sometime?”

Derek doesn’t answer, and Stiles doesn’t press any further. Windhelm stables are visible from the little hill in the road they’re currently on. Stiles can’t wait to see the look on Scott’s face when he shows up.

“Look the stables are right there! We survived! Scott’s going to be so happy to see us alive and unscathed.”

A blood curling roar echoes across the sky. Stiles gulps and looks up. A horrible foreboding sense of doom settles at the base of his spine. He wields his iron sword even though such a weapon has to be useless against something that loud.

“Stiles, run to the stables.”

Stiles is ignoring Derek’s commands.  He hasn’t killed anything before, and he can barely use a sword properly, but something is making him stay put. He needs to see this creature. Another roar sweeps across the snowy land. Stiles searches the sky and spots the winged creature flying right at him. As it gets closer there’s only one thing it can be, and oh how Stiles wishes it wasn’t true, a green scaled dragon lands right in front of him. The ground quakes under the beast’s weight like it can’t believe a living dragon is standing on it.

The dragon sways its head around searching for a target. It’s yellow eyes with black slits for pupils lock on Stiles with an evil hunger. The beast rears back its head and opens its jaw. Stiles stares in awe as the back of the dragon’s throat is slowly illuminated by a growing fire.

“STILES!”

Derek’s shout shakes him from his daze. On pure instinct Stiles shoves his iron sword into he dragon’s mouth, stabbing through its flesh and out the back of its head. The beast lurches back in pain, its brewing attack subsided by shock. Stiles is still holding onto the sword when the dragon whips his head around, sending Stiles flying into a pile of snow.

Stiles leaps to his feet and dusts himself off. The dragon s up in the air again, circling around him and Derek. Stiles searches the ground, but his sword is nowhere to be seen. He peers up at the flying beast and catches a glint of his sword out the back of its head. He roars with laughter.

Derek runs over to make sure he’s okay. “Are you mad?! That thing could’ve swallowed you whole!”

“That _thing_ is a dragon. And that dragon has my sword stabbed through the back of its head.”

Derek peers up at the dragon, and his face clouds with horror. Stiles looks up and sees that the dragon is hovering right above them looking ready to unleash its fury. Derek tackles Stiles out of the way just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp.

“Do you have a bow and some arrows?”

Derek doesn’t waste time asking questions, just hands the weapons over to Stiles. Stiles holds out the bow with an arrow ready to fire, he aims for the dragon and releases. The arrow misses by a long shot. Stiles isn’t sure why he’s even attempting this, he’s never even tried archery before.

The dragon swoops down and lands right in front of Stiles. He draws his bow, aiming for the dragon’s eye, he waits until the dragon starts to attack then he releases. The dragon being thrown off by the iron arrow right in his eye stumbles back and tries to get its bearings. Stiles takes the opportunity to dislodge his sword, which in turn hurts the dragon more.

Derek is slashing up the dragon’s wings with his battleaxe as Stiles is readying his sword. By the time the dragon gets its bearings its wings are too slashed up to fly. It roars in frustration and whips its tail around to send Derek flying. Stiles runs after his companion, stupidly choosing to run underneath the murderous fire breathing beast. An idea hits him. He stabs his sword up into the dragon and uses all his strength to run down the length of the dragon slowly gutting him as he goes.

The dragons blood and intestines flop out onto the road in a disgusting fashion and Stiles shudders while looking the other way. The dragon flops to the side in defeat, and Stiles runs to Derek’s aid only because he’s certain the scaled beast is dead.

The sound of a fire crackling starts up behind him, but he’s a bit preoccupied to care. He crouches down and gently shakes Derek’s shoulder. Derek bolts upright and whips his head around searching for danger. His eyes focus behind Stiles and they widen in awe. A whooshing sound fills Stiles’ ears and everything goes a bit blurry. After a few moments everything clears up and Derek is staring at him in awe? Fear? Confusion?

“Y-you’re...t-“

Stiles can’t help but be flattered by Derek’s stuttering. “Yes I killed the dragon.”

“You’re the Dragonborn!” Derek exclaims.

“What?” Maybe Derek hit his head.

“You absorbed the dragon’s soul.” Derek looks a little freaked out.

“Derek, the Dragonborn is just a legend. I’m just Stiles, and besides why would a Breton be a Nord hero?”

“Dragons are just legends.”

Okay, so Derek had a point with that. But even if the last Dragonborn is around now, why would it be Stiles? Stiles who is a Breton, and cannot use a sword in combat. Stiles who only knows a small amount of restoration magic. Stiles who can only shoot an arrow at something that is literally right in front of him. Stiles who has hero worshiped Derek since he showed up in his town. Okay he needs to stop self evaluating before he gives himself a headache.

He hauls Derek to his feet and marches the both of them over to the Windhelm stables. A guard greets them.

“Let me guess, someone stole your sweet roll.”

Stiles is about to make a rude remark when the guard takes off his helmet.

“Scott!”

“Stiles!”

Stiles runs towards Scott and wraps him up in a hug.

“You didn’t tell me you were visiting Windhelm!”

“Surprise! I convinced my father to finally let me see all of Skyrim. Which is why I have Derek here as my loyal companion. Derek, Scott. Scott, Derek.”

They salute each other, and Stiles only just stifles his laughter.

“We’re going to book a room for the night. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow alright and you can tell me all about your life as a war hero.”

Scott grins.

Stiles leans in and whispers quietly to him, “Oh, and you might want to warn Jarl Ulfric that the dragon’s are back.”

Scott stares at him wide eyed. “Wha-!”

“Trust me. I saw one. I fought one. I somehow without dying killed one. Just warn the Jarl so he can keep everyone safe.”

Stiles pats Scott on the shoulder and drags Derek into Windhelm with him.

-

Through the heavy gates and into the snowy city. The Candle Hearth Inn is straight ahead. Stiles and Derek enter the warm bustling atmosphere. Friends enjoying a well cooked meal, a bard singing beautifully upstairs and plenty of mead to go around. Stiles walks up to the bar and pays for a room.

“Do you want to have a drink, or do you want to catch some well needed sleep?”

“I think I need to rest after seeing a dragon. Drinking would probably make me see another one.”

Stiles laughs. “Good idea. Come on, our room’s down the hall.”

Stiles is grateful for a bed to sleep on. His bed is on one side of the small room and Derek’s on the other. He can’t help but toss and turn under the covers, he really wants to discuss the whole Dragonborn thing with Derek. The thing is Stiles doesn’t believe it, he cannot believe that h is the Dragonborn. But a tiny deep down instinct, the same idea that makes him do impossible things knows it to be true. But being Dragonborn is not Stiles biggest worry. No, he’s read the legends he knows that the Dragonborn only shows up in times of great need. He’s also read the prophecy for the Last Dragonborn. Which if Derek is right, that is what Stiles is.

The prophecy of the Last Dragonborn is for the end of time itself. Only the Dragonborn can stop the world and the afterlife from ending. And Stiles thinks that’s the most terrifying part. Everything living and deceased depending on him to save them.

What in Oblivion is cruel enough to sentence anyone to this fate?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. My Cousin's off Fighting Dragon's and what do I get? Guard Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's day of impossible nonsense followed by a murder and some flirting cue the beautiful stable's boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who asked: Mara is the goddess of love in Skyrim. So people looking for a partner where an amulet of Mara to show that they are avaliable.
> 
> Thanks for all the positive feedback guys :)
> 
> Unbeta'd
> 
> All comments welcome

Scott’s never been much of a morning person, but he’ll do what he has to to survive guard duty. He’ll also adjust to mornings if it means he has the chance to look out for his best friend. So it’s early in the morning and Scott is on a mission to interrogate this Derek fellow.  The streets are empty at this hour of the morning bar some guards and the snow. Scott puts on his stern ‘I enforce the law’ face and storms into the Candle Hearth Inn.

The lobby is mostly empty, the inn keeper serving at the bar, Derek sitting on a wooden barstool and an old drunk bumbling nonsense in the corner. The Inn is still fairly dark with the early hours and the room is cast in an orange glow from several small flames. Scott troops over to Derek and sits himself down next to the man. Derek doesn’t look at him, but Scott knows he’s aware of his presence.

“I don’t like you mercenaries.”

Derek takes a swig of his mead and sighs still not facing Scott. “I’m not a sell sword.”

Scott laughs bitterly, “Well you’re not following Stiles out of the goodness of your heart. No one follows Stiles unless he pays them or they have a damn good motive.”

“You think I have a hidden agenda.” It’s not even a question, just a cold hard fact. “You really want to know why I agreed to follow him.”

“Obviously. He’s my friend and it’s my job to look out for the lad. Besides, I don’t trust you.” Scott thought that would at least offend Derek, but the comment seems meaningless to the man. He’s not sure whether to be impressed or worried.

“I think he deserves to see all of Skyrim and not be holed up in that little city for the rest of life. I need a break from my usual agenda. And he’s been miserable since you left.”

Scott narrows his eyes at him. There has to be more to it. No one tolerates Stiles long term unless they really like him or they’re getting something out of it.

“I still think there’s something more for you in this.”

Derek rolls his eyes.

Scott huffs, “I swear if you’re just trying to bed him-!”

Derek cuts him off, “Calm down. I never said anything about bedding him, nor do I plan to do so.”

“I’m keeping an eye on you. Because if you hurt him it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

That seems to strike a nerve in Derek. The man stands up and storms right into Scott’s personal space. Eyes burning with intent and importance rolling off him in waves.

“First of all, I’d never hurt Stiles purely on principle. Second, you have no idea how important your friend really is. Stiles maybe, well Stiles, but he’s more important than this foolish war and he doesn’t even know it. So don’t you dare think I’d ever try and hurt him.”

Derek sits back down in a grumpy silence. Scott stares at him in awe and confusion, mostly confusion. How much mead has Derek been drinking? He’s never heard anyone talk about Stiles with such passion before, even if half of it was insane gibberish, Derek cares about Stiles a whole lot more than he lets on.

“What are you talking about?”

“You may be an Imperial, but you grew up in Nord land. You must’ve heard the legends of Dragonborn.”

Scott furrows his brows. “Those books Stiles would never shut up about?”

“So you know what it means for someone to be Dragonborn?”

“Yeah, a person with the blood of dragons, the ability to shout as they did and they can apparently absorb the soul of a dragon.”

Derek nods, but he still has this weary sombre look about him. “Do you know what it means to be The Last Dragonborn?”

Scott does remember, unfortunately, because Stiles would never shut up about that prophecy he loved so much. “Yeah, that was Stiles’ favourite legend. The only one who can save us from the end times. But what has this got to do with Stiles?”

Derek looks a lot like that old war hero who wanders the streets of Windhelm. Eyes that have seen too much strife and a face that hasn’t smiled enough.

“Stiles doesn’t know it. Well, actually, he chooses not to believe it. But he’s The Last Dragonborn.”

Scott’s seriously considering patrolling the city for hidden skooma stashes, because this guy is off his head. This is all nonsense, those legends are just legends, nothing more. But Scott can’t just leave something like this alone, not when it concerns his friend and not when it’s the freshest story he’s heard not involving the war.

“And what makes you so sure that Stiles is this great and mighty dragon slayer?”

Derek wipes his hand down his face and stares Scott straight in the eye. “Because I saw him kill a dragon when it should have killed him ten times over, and then watched with my own eyes as he obliviously absorbed its soul.”

Scott’s about to laugh in his face when a hand clamps down on his shoulder. He spins around to see the legendary dragon slayer himself beaming like the sun.

“What are you two doing out of bed this early? Scott, lad, there has to be a law against this.”

Scott can’t help but grin; he hasn’t seen his friend in what seems like an Era.

“So how have things been back in Whiterun, what have you been up to?”

Stiles sits down getting comfortable before he talks everyone to death.

“I’ve done so much farming, lost my appetite for cabbages. I’m known around town as the errand boy now, I should just sign up for the courier at this rate. Oh, and I’ve still been trying to get a war story out of strong and silent right here.”

Derek just shakes his head, and continues to contentedly listen to the conversation.

“Anyway, what have you been up to mister I-Fight-For Skyrim’s-Freedom?” Stiles puts on a fake deep voice and puffs out his chest in mockery.

Scott just rolls his eyes, he’s grown up with this behaviour. “I don’t do any of the battling. I don’t really want to be responsible for ending someone’s life. And besides, being a guard I can keep the city safe and clean Skyrim of it’ crime.”

Stiles grins and claps him on the back. “That’s the Scott I know, moral compass the size of The Throat of the World. So, any updates on the war?”

Derek seems to perk up at that. Even though he’s just a city guard Scott still hears all the battle plans, and it’s fairly obvious when there’s been a victory or a failure; mead and song or grumbling and shouting are two very different things.

“Well it’s a pretty even playing field right now, both sides are at an equal score. But apparently there’s plans of invading Whiterun.”

Scott feels his heart plummet as Stiles’ face pales. He knows his friend is very protective of his father and the ever since the war started he’s been on edge. Scott hates seeing Stiles go into a panic over these things so he does the best he can.

“Stiles, your Dad will be safe. In fact he’ll be in the safest position possible. The chief of the guards has to stay back and protect the Jarl.”

Stiles seems to calm down with that. Scott tries not to focus on Derek’s hand gripping Stiles’ shoulder, but his protective instincts are kicking in. Derek’s trying to help Stiles, he reminds himself, and most people back off when he freaks out.

“It’s actually a good thing you’re here; if you’d stayed in Whiterun you could’ve become collateral damage.”

Stiles nods and calms down completely. They settle down and have a few bottles of mead and enjoy the bard’s music. A conflict has begun to brew at the entrance of the Inn between a Dunmer lady and a drunken Nord man. Scott turns to watch, he has no right to step in until something out of hand happens. They argue a bit more and then the waitress gets involved too.

“Perhaps you should just leave.”

Scott is so angry he can’t step in. As Stiles storms past him he realises in horror that Stiles isn’t bound by the Jarl’s instructions.

“Stiles!”

His friend turns to face him but continues walking backwards, “Scott you and I both watched enough brawls growing up, you know I can do this.”

He watches in horror as Stiles propositions the man for a brawl. He turns to Derek in exasperation.

“Why aren’t you stopping him?”

Derek shrugs, “I’ve seen him gut a dragon.”

Scott throws his hands up in frustration and turns to reluctantly watch his best friend get himself in trouble.  The fight starts with the drunk throwing a few strong punches at Stiles, but Stiles just dodges them. In fact, Stiles isn’t even trying to punch him.  Then the drunk aims for Stiles’ head, but misses horribly and Stiles takes the opportunity to trip him up. As the Nord makes his way to the ground Stiles knees him in the gut and kicks him the back. The Nord slams into the wooden floorboards with a painful sounding thud.

Scott stares slack jawed in amazement as Stiles smugly swoops up the coin purse of 200 gold and strides proudly back towards him. He shakes the purse triumphantly in front of them with the happiest smile to ever be conjured into existence on his face.

“Never be racist around Stiles Stilinski, you only get beaten up and a 100 gold poorer!”

Scott laughs in bewilderment. Did that actually just happen? The Stiles he knows is a clumsy flailing boy who could knock himself out by walking into a tree. But this Stiles standing before him is still his Stiles, just with better survival instincts.

Scott stands up and puts on his default guard helmet. “Well I’d love to stay and bask in your glory, but I’ve got horses to guard.”

“See you tomorrow, Derek and I are going to look for some work.”

“I’ll take my leave then.”

-

Scott makes his way back to his position outside the stables. He finds it odd that there are so many stables in Skyrim; no one ever seems to buy a horse. But with the war going on he assumes that there must be high demand in horses.

He thinks it’s just going to be a normal day of standing around in the snow watching the farmers enter and exit the city, when he feels a hand in his pocket. He spins around to catch a boy; well he’s more of a young lad actually, pulling something from his pocket.

He catches the boy by his wrist, “By order of the Jarl stop right there!”

The lad looks up from where he’s crouched, curly blond hair falling over his scared blue eyes.

“I- I can explain!”

He looks utterly petrified, Scott almost pities him. Looking closer, he realises that the thief is actually the stable’s boy; Isaac’s his name.

“Better start explaining Isaac, or I throw you in jail.”

Isaac actually squeaks at that.

“I don’t have any money, and it’s hard to find work these days with the war. I just needed something to pay for food.”

That doesn’t make any sense; the stables make a fair amount of coin. “But you work at the stables; I thought you made plenty with Ulfric buying war horses.”

Isaac scratches the back of his neck and stares down at his feet. For a tall lad he sure makes himself look small.

“My father doesn’t share the coin we make.”

Scott stares at him in bewilderment. This is clearly a day for things that don’t make sense. “What do you mean he doesn’t share? Doesn’t he buy you food like a father should?”

Isaac looks embarrassed, “He says the work I do isn’t worth any amount of coin, and that I need to learn how to survive in the world.”

Scott doesn’t see much of Mr. Lahey, but he’s certain he’d want to punch him if he did. He knows it’s against his duty, and the law, but he thinks someone needs to cut Isaac a break.

“I’ll tell you what. How about you just give me back what you took and I forget this happened?”

Isaac looks like he’s just been told he gets to spend eternity in Sovngarde. He pulls the one thing he stole from his pocket and examines it for a moment.

“This is an amulet of Mara. Why do you have one if you aren’t wearing it?”

Scott snatches it back, and is grateful his helmet hides his blushing. He shoves the amulet in his pocket and clears his throat.

“I, uh, don’t want to wear it until I find someone I wish to court.”

“There’s no one in all of Windhelm that you wish to court?” Isaac raises his eyebrows with genuine interest.

“No one I’ve gotten to know at least.”

Isaac smirks. “We should get to know each other.”

Scott flushes and stumbles back. “I... um, uh. T-t-that would be, good. Yes we should do that some time.”

Scott spins around and walks as briskly as possible back towards the city. He can hear Isaac cackling behind him. This is officially the most embarrassing day of his life; and Stiles made him run through Whiterun naked once.

-

He rushes into the city and leans against the closest wall, his heart is hammering. He needs to get a grip, he is an honourable guard not a fragile child. Dear Talos, he’s acting like one of those fictional maidens in the story books.

“It was just a friendly joke. Like something Stiles would say. Yes that is all Isaac was doing. Joking, He just wants to be your friend.”

“Joking doesn’t send you into hysterics lad.” A random guard comments as he strolls past.

Scott slams his head back against the stone wall; he doesn’t care that he could’ve just fractured his skull because he probably needs it. He stands up and dusts himself off and turns to walk towards the barracks in desperate need of a brake.  Just as he’s approaching The Palace of the Kings he spots Stiles and Derek talking with an Argonian. He walks over to them just as she leaves.

“Hi, what are you two up to?”

“Work.” Clearly Derek is never going to be a bard.

“We’re running errands for the Dunmer and the Argonians!” Stiles announces as enthusiastic as ever.

Scott actually feels his face fall. “Stiles that’s not a good idea.”

His friend frowns, “Scott, please tell me you aren’t like the rest of these racist bastards.”

“No! I’m not like them; in fact I hate what they do. But it’s not safe, okay? You could get thrown in jail, or worse.”

Stiles crosses his arms defiantly and stands his ground stubbornly. “Well tough luck. Common courtesy is worth the risk.”

Scott looks pleadingly to Derek for any assistance.

“Grey skin, tails, cat ears and scales, they’re still people and that’s what counts.”

Stiles giggles.

“What?”

“You rhymed and it was hilariously beautiful. Maybe we should stop by the Bard’s Colleges and get you enrolled.”

Scott has to laugh with Stiles at that. Derek just glares at the both of them and storms back to the Candle Hearth Inn. Scott takes this as the perfect opportunity to talk to Stiles alone.

“I don’t trust him.”

Stiles honestly looks offended. “You don’t know him.”

“Yeah, but I know you. And I know that you have a habit of liking bad things.”

Stiles scrunches up his nose, “Name one.”

“Mead drinking contests. Bar brawls. Annoying great warriors. Travelling Skyrim during a civil war. Stealing sweet rolls-“

“Okay, okay, shut up! Point taken. But Derek’s not a bad guy okay? Sure he’s got some sharp edges, but no one’s perfect.”

Scott sighs. “I’m just worried for you.”

“I know you are. I have to go and find him so we can start these errands, but I’ll see you tomorrow alright.”

“Yeah okay. See you tomorrow.”

-

Scott heads back to his house. He’s the only guard in the city to have his own house, everyone else just lives in the barracks.  As he walks up the front steps he notices his door is ajar. Scott wastes no time unsheathing his sword and kicking his door fully open. He cautiously steps into the house.

The house is still in order, everything is still where it belongs in the main entrance. Scott sweeps his eyes across the room and drops his sword with fright. Someone is sitting in his living room. He quickly snatches his sword from the ground and aims the blade directly at the intruder. The intruder he’s threatening happens to be a terrified Isaac. Scott sheathes his sword, and takes a deep breath shutting the door behind him.

“What in Oblivion are you doing here? You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Isaac holds out his hands in defence. “I needed to see you! And to my defence you really shouldn’t leave your spare key under a very obvious stone.”

Scott’s about to lecture him about breaking and entering when he notices the huge purple bruise staining Isaac’s right eye. The dark mottled colour stands out against his fair skin.

“What happened?”

Isaac looks startled by the question. “I...fell, at the stables. Stone paths are ruthless.” He laughs hollowly.

Scott frowns and steps forward inspecting the injury. “You hesitated. You didn’t fall.”

Isaac sighs, looking dejected and like he’s had to go through this conversation many times.

“Who did this?”

“It’s fine, it’s not even that bad.”

Scott grips Isaac’s wrists firmly. The Nord looks up to face him, his bottom lip trembling slightly.

“Who. Did. This?”

Isaac mumbles something unintelligible.

“What?”

“It was my father! There I said it.”

Scott takes a step back as Isaac collapses back into the wooden chair, dropping his head into his hands. To say Scott is taken aback is an understatement. He can’t comprehend how someone could be so cruel to their own child. Sure his own father had left him, but abandonment is nowhere near as evil as abuse.

Scott crouches down and rests a gentle hand on Isaac’s knee. “You can stay here tonight. I’ll go and discuss his bounty with him in the morning.”

“No!”

Scott is startled by Isaac’s teary outburst.

“Please, don’t arrest him! Don’t tell him you know. It’ll only make him angry.” Isaac’s eyes are wide, pleading and afraid.

No one should fear their parents.

“Isaac, I have to do something. He’s been breaking the law for a long time, and I won’t allow him to hurt you.”

“Only confront if you can promise I’ll never see him again. You have to promise me that.”

The broken begging breaks Scott’s heart. He just wants to help, but there’s not much within his power that he can do.

“We’ll sort this out in the morning, yeah?”

Isaac nods.

“I’ll make some cabbage stew, you just rest.”

-

That night Scott let’s Isaac have his bed while he makes do with a bedroll on the floor. He doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor if it means knowing that Isaac is at least a little bit comfortable. Especially since he’s woken by the lad’s night terrors around 4 in the morning. They share the bed after that.

Scott awakens to a disruptive banging on his door; the sun is just shining through his window suggests it’s morning. Scott moves to get out of bed, but is stopped by an arm draped over him. He cranes his neck to see that the arm belongs to Isaac who is sound asleep cuddled up next to him. Scott carefully removes himself from Isaac and rushes down stairs.

Yanking the door open he’s greeted by one of his fellow guards.

“There’s been a murder.”

“That’s not my division.” Scott frowns in confusion. He only deals with patrolling and the general public, murders are left to a few selected guards.

“The victim is from your area.”

Scott only patrols the stables, and since Isaac is here, that can only leave one person. Scott can’t help but feel dread, even though that horrid man doesn’t deserve it. He quickly scrawls out a note to Isaac and puts on his armour.

The stables don’t look any different. Scott doesn’t know why he expected some drastic message that a death has occurred here. There are already guards inside the small shack when he arrives, They all move out of the way for him to get a look.

Mr Lahey’s corpse is not how you’d expect a corpse to be. In fact it looks as if the killer has moved him for some strange reason. His dead body is sitting at the dining room table, like a normal living person, with his hands drawn together resting on the table. The cause of death is the obvious belt tied around his neck, which is an odd weapon choice. Taking a closer look, Scott sees why the weapon was chosen; on the belt’s clasp is old dried blood and clearly not Mr Lahey’s blood.

Scott has to turn away and swallow down the acid that has climbed up his throat. This man hasn’t just been beating his child, but with a weapon as well. Scott almost wants to award the murder. Noting the use of the belt, Scott realises that the killer was actually avenging Isaac. The belt isn’t the oddest bit of symbolic evidence though. No, in Mr Lahey’s hands is a small bouquet of violet flowers standing out violently in the scenario.

Scott takes a closer look at the flowers. He sniffs them and observes their shape. There’s only flower this could be. He turns to the guards assigned the case. “Wolfsbane. The flowers are wolfsbane.”

-

Scott waits until Isaac is sitting down before he breaks the news. Isaac reacted the way everyone usually does to death, and that’s mourning. He cried for a long time, and Scott comforted as best he could. It’s been a few hours now, and Scott has the day off due to the news, so he’s just helping Isaac cope.

“I miss him.”

Scott’s surprised by the confession, but he doesn’t voice it, doesn’t think it’s his place.

“I know that sounds weird. But he wasn’t always bad you know. He wasn’t even that bad after what happened with mother. I think it was when my brother died in the war; I think that’s when he finally broke.”

Scott nods, there’s nothing he can say, nothing important anyway. He can’t even begin to comprehend what Isaac must be going through. It’s strange because Isaac doesn’t seem like a bad guy, sure he tried to steal, but that was out of desperation, yet he seems to think he’s bad. Thinking on it now, it actually makes sense; anyone would assume they were bad if they were constantly told so.

“What happens to me now?”

Scott’s unimaginably happy that he can help with this one little thing. “You’re going to live here until you feel the need to live wherever you want.”

Isaac doesn’t seem to believe him. It’s tragic really, that someone can have that much self worth taken away that they don’t believe a good deed when it comes their way.

“I’m not kidding. We don’t even need to get a second bed since you seem so content with sharing.”

Isaac blushes, and Scott grins with pride. He plans to make Isaac happy and make him see the good in himself. Since Isaac will be receiving all the income from the stables they don’t need to worry about finding him a job.

They spend the rest of the afternoon just talking and getting to know each other. You can’t live with someone you don’t know anything about. Scott learns that Isaac is from Riften and that’s where he learnt his criminal tricks. Scott tells Isaac all his stories from Whiterun, and even shares the tale of his dad leaving.

“Do you think we’ll end up like our fathers?”

That is actually one of Scott’s biggest fears.

“Not a chance.”

Isaac looks up at him, and his wide thoughtful eyes force him to tell the truth.

“Well, at least I hope not. But you’re too nice and I’m too clingy, so I don’t think so.”

A knock at the door gains Scott’s attention. He gets up and opens his door to be faced with Stiles and Derek. He’s beginning to notice it’s difficult to find these two apart.

“Stiles, Derek. What are you doing here?”

“We heard the news. I just wanted to say I’m proud of you. Tell Isaac we wish him the best.”

“Thanks. Wait you’re leaving?”

Stiles smiles wryly. “Yeah, we’ve done pretty much all the work available that doesn’t require a permanent residence here. Plus the Nords here kind of hate us for helping out the Dunmer and the Argonians, negative vibes aren’t the best.”

Scott rushes forward and pulls him into a hug. “I’m going to miss you man. Visit whenever you next get the chance, or I might even see you out on the road some day.”

“You planning on travelling?”

Scott shrugs. “Windhelm might not be the best place for Isaac. Some travelling could be good for him.”

Stiles grins. “That’s great, and maybe you should start wearing that amulet of Mara.”

“How do you-?”

“I know you better than anybody else, remember? Well we better get going. We’re heading to Winterhold, to make sure Lydia hasn’t enslaved the whole town.”

Scott waves them off.

-

As Scott and Isaac are having a peaceful afternoon snack the house shakes and rumbles. It feels like thunder and a hurricane, but it’s still sunny outside.

“DOVAHKIN!”

As the shaking stops, Scott quickly checks to make sure the house is still in order. When he returns to the dining room Isaac has a zoned-out look on his face.

“Hey, you okay?”

Isaac snaps out of his trance, “That was the grey beards.”

“The what?”

“The grey beards. They’re these monks that live up in High Hrothgar; they spend their whole lives following the way of the voice.”

Scott’s pretty sure Stiles has told him about the grey beards before. In fact he’s certain he’s heard at least one story of them.

“So why did they just shout across all of Skyrim?”

“They said Dovahkin, which in the song ‘The Dragonborn Comes’ means Dragonborn.”

Maybe Derek was right. No, Stiles can’t be the Dragonborn. He’ll die! Stiles can’t just go around slaying dragons! And if he’s supposed to stop the end of the world...oh dear Talos, what’s going to happen to them?

“Scott, you look like you’ve seen a dragon.”

Scott takes a deep breath. “Worse. I’ve seen the Dragonborn.”

Isaac’s jaw falls open. “What!Who?”

“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”

Isaac’s eye twitches. “The same one that made you run through Whiterun naked?”

“Yep.”

They sit in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, both of them clearly pondering their fate.

“Maybe we should travel.”

Scott’s thrown by the out of place statement, “Why the sudden desire?”

“I’d just like to see Skyrim while I still can.”

-

They carefully plan where they want to go. Whiterun is ruled out with the upcoming battle planned. Solitude is ruled out with the Imperial Legion setting up their HQ there. Falkreath is ruled out since that’s where the most dangerous wild life resides, also rumours of the Dark Brotherhood staying around there. Winterhold ruled out because that’s where Stiles and Derek are going. That leaves them Morthal and Riften.

“Morthal is on a swamp and it’s just a damn creepy place.”

Scott nods in agreement, “Okay, Riften it is. You sure you want to go back to your hometown?”

“Yeah, might run into my old friends.”

Scott grins and starts packing. They really only need to pack clothes, armour, a few weapons for defence, their gold and a map. Isaac takes his knapsack of stuff downstairs ready to go, while Scott sorts out the last of his stuff.

As he’s folding up his spare clothes something falls out of the pockets. He looks down to see the amulet of Mara mocking him from the floor. He’s never really understood the whole ritual of wearing it. Plenty of single people in Skyrim who are looking for a partner don’t wear one. He remembers what he told Isaac about not wearing it until he finds someone he wishes to court. He picks the amulet up and tosses it in the air a few times, thinking his course of action over. Stuff it, if dragon’s are a thing now what’s he got to lose?

Scott slips the amulet over his head and shivers as the cool metal rests against his chest. He runs down stairs with his knap sack and sees Isaac’s note. The lad’s already at the stables, impatience is a trait of his that Scott has recently learned of.

He runs off through Windhelm and out the city gates. He spots Isaac outside the stables with two horses already out, sitting on one himself. Scott puts his knapsack on and mounts his horse.

“Hey-“ Isaac cuts himself off with a gasp.

Scott can’t help but grin at Isaac’s response.

“Nice amulet Scott. Finally find someone?”

Scott’s feeling extremely smug with the whole situation.

“Yeah I did. If they don’t get sick of me I hope to court with them.”

“Well I don’t think they’ll get sick of you, I’m pretty sure they’ve been interested in you ever since you started patrolling the stables.”

Scott almost falls off his horse.

“Really?”

Isaac blushes.  “Shut up. Come on let’s get going before a dragon decides to swoop down.”

“Don’t worry, if that happens I’m fairly good at running away from things.”

Isaac smirks. “Naked?”

“You’re not getting a look at that view if there’s a dragon around.”

Isaac raises an eyebrow. “So if there was no dragon around...?”

“There should be a law against you saying things like that.”

Isaac laughs, and Scott really hopes Stiles succeeds as Dragonborn so he can hear that sound for as long as possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Hail Summoner! Conjure Me up a Warm Bed would You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cold weather and a Breton boy wearing cheap clothes don't mix well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter's a bit shorter
> 
> Unbeta'd
> 
> All comments welcome

Only a few days of staying in a city and someone gets murdered, it really is a mood killer. That pun was not intended and is a clear sign that Stiles is stressed. Walking to Winterhold should clear his head, hopefully.

“Apparently they’re saying it wasn’t the Dark Brotherhood.”

Stiles is a nervous talker, always has been always will be. The surprising thing is that Derek hasn’t just fed him to a cave bear yet. Clearly Derek is some kind of divine, no mere mortal can have this kind of tolerance.

“They found purposefully placed wolfsbane at the crime scene.”

Derek freezes up and Stiles walks right into his back. Stiles steps back and brushes himself off.

“You alright?”

Derek snaps out of his trance. “Yeah, I just. I’m very familiar with wolfsbane.”

They keep walking down the snow covered path. Stiles rubs his hands up and down his arms, trying to create some warmth, his cheap clothes aren’t doing much to keep him warm. Stiles was raised around Nords and so he just pushes on ignoring his numbing limbs. They agreed to have Derek lead the way through the snowy areas since he’s travelled around Skyrim before and is also more skilled with his weapons.

“That shout we heard as we left Windhelm, it was for you, you know.”

Stiles frowns, “What?”

“It was the grey beards. They were summoning you to High Hrothgar.”

Stiles can’t deny the shout, because he heard it too. But why would it be for him? He’s just a Breton boy who by some miracle happened to kill a dragon.

“I still don’t believe you. It’s impossible, and ridiculous.”

“Why are the heroes always so stubborn?”

“Rude.”

They pass a logging mill and wave to the workers they pass. Stiles wonders if the workers ever get bored of chopping wood all day. Stiles would probably get bored of chopping wood all day and would accidentally put an axe in his foot.

They walk up the hill and Stiles may let his gaze linger on Derek’s bum. Hey it’s not his fault they guy is wearing well fitted leather armour and happens to have well defined muscles everywhere. Stiles glares at Derek’s back, because his existence is unfair.

Derek stops walking abruptly, and Stiles once again walks into his leather clad back.

“We have to stop doing that.”

“Quiet!” Derek hisses, he unsheathes his sword. “Run.”

“What? No, Derek I’m not leaving you to fight something on your own again.”

A guttural roar shocks Stiles and makes him loose his footing. He falls backwards landing butt first in the freezing snow. A beast, almost twice the size of Stiles, bounds towards them and sends Derek flying. The beast has white fur and what looks like 4 eyes, Stiles instantly recognises it as a frost troll. Stiles knows most people don’t encounter frost trolls and live to tell the tale, so he books it to the tree line.

He crouches down behind a rock and peers over the top to see that Derek is on his feet again. Derek gets a few good swings at the troll with his sword weakening it. But the troll is just a bit stronger and punches Derek right in the gut, sending him sprawling across the ground. Derek’s down heaving, barely able to lift himself up with a troll looming over him.

Stiles will not let Derek die. He doesn’t know how, but he won’t. He runs out from his hiding spot yelling, and trying to get the troll’s attention. The troll looks up at him and bares its teeth. The troll grunts and runs at him. Stiles panics, he did not think this through. Out of sheer desperation and a loss of what else to do, Stiles shouts at the oncoming threat. His voice has more force than he anticipated and the troll gets thrown through the air and is sent tumbling down the snowy hillside.

Stiles blinks in disbelief. Then he remembers Derek. He runs to the warrior’s side on the ground, and checks him for critical injuries. No open wounds are visible, but Stiles needs to get Derek out of the snow. He tucks his hands underneath Derek’s shoulders and starts dragging him to a cave opening he saw in the hillside.

After a lot of struggling and muscle straining he eventually get’s Derek propped up against the side of a cave wall. The cave is barely a cave, more of a large indent, but it has dirt for a floor and that’s good enough for Stiles. Derek is still unconscious, so he gets to work healing him.

There’s a thing about seeing someone vulnerable. It kind of reveals how you think of the person. Looking down at a vulnerable Derek, Stiles may be having a little revelation. Maybe he doesn’t like Derek in the ‘You’re a great warrior and I’d love to join you in great battles’ kind of way. Maybe he likes Derek more in the ‘I never want to see you hurt and we should definitely catch torch bugs together sometime’ kind of way.

Why does Stiles always have to develop feelings for people who are tremendously too good for him. First it was Lydia who is the best Nord mage in all of Skyrim, maybe even in all of Tamriel. Stiles got over his feelings for her eventually, after a lot of rejections. Now he has feelings for Derek who is a fearsome companion. Maybe he has thing for terrifying Nords.

After a few hours of healing it starts to get dark and the temperature starts to drop significantly. Stiles continues to use all the magic he can muster and continues to heal Derek even with shaking hands. Derek starts to wake up around the time Stiles’ eyes start to droop. Derek sits up quickly and catches Stiles by his shoulders.

“Woah. Stiles, you’re freezing! Why didn’t you start a fire?”

Everything Derek is saying sounds like it’s coming from far away, but Stiles still hears him. Isn’t not hearing things properly a bad sign?

“I was busy....healing....you.” Everything is spinning slowly, and Stiles is certain that is not a good sign.

“Damn it Stiles.” Derek grumbles, but he’s working quickly. He makes quick work of tucking Stiles into a bedroll and starting a fire.

Just as Stiles starts to drift off he sees Derek making a pile of sticks and using a torch to start their camp fire. Everything goes black right after Derek’s worried face looms into view.

-

Stiles wakes up to a wall of heat pressed up against him. He wriggles around and eventually gets himself facing the other way to see what this amazing warmth is. He squeaks when Derek’s face appears to be a right in front of his.

“Derek, why are you hugging me?”

Derek’s intense eyebrows pull down into a mighty and eloquent frown.

“To keep you warm.” The _obviously_ is left unsaid.

Stiles actually finds it very comfortable having Derek in his bedroll right next to him, with his strong arms wrapped around him. He is going to savour this moment and hope that it isn’t a really good dream.

“So.”

“So.”

Stiles snorts, he can’t help it. “Turns out I can shout.”

Derek just nods. A man of many words as usual.

“The only reason that could happen would be if I am the Dragonborn.” Stiles can feel a full on freak out brewing.

Derek just nods again.

“Why are you being so calm about this?!”

“Because I’m scared!”

Stiles stares at him for a few moments, not really sure if he heard him right.

“What?”

“I’m scared. Okay?”

Stiles frowns in confusion. Why would Derek be scared? He’s a big bad warrior, he can handle some dragons. And it’s not like Derek has to be some random chosen one. And if Derek dies he’ll go to Sovngarde where he can drink mead for the rest of eternity.

“Are you scared that the world might end?”

“No. I’m scared for you.”

Stiles is considering healing Derek some more, just to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.

“Why would you be scared for me?”

Derek looks about ready to slap some sense into Stiles.

“Because you don’t get a say in whether or not you are the Dragonborn, and you’re forced to be the only one that can save us all. I just think it’s completely unfair.”

Stiles thinks about that for a moment. Derek’s right, it is unfair. He literally has the weight of the world on his shoulders now, and if everyone dies it’s his fault. He can’t even begin to think how he’s going to save everyone from The World Eater.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“You do whatever you want to do. Everyone else be damned.”

Derek shouldn’t be allowed to say stuff like that. How is Stiles supposed to get over his feelings if this guy keeps making him love him more?  Maybe a dragon will swallow him whole and he won’t have to deal with any of this, at all, ever.

-

They get up when the sun is high enough to create a decent amount of warmth. They continue their journey to Winterhold, but Derek insists on carrying Stiles on his back. So Stiles currently has his arms and legs wrapped around Derek, because apparently he is a fragile thing that needs to be taken care of.

After a lot of bitching from Stiles he’s let down to walk on his own two feet. But only after a few minutes of walking on his own again, they come across a fort. When he says fort he really means a castle that has lots of barricades and pikes around the edges and several guards patrolling the perimeter. Derek holds out his arm to stop Stiles from walking any further.

“We have to go around.”

“What, why?” Stiles can’t see why they can’t just stroll through the castle. It’s not like they’re here to cause trouble or threaten anyone.

“Because bandits and wild mages like to hide out in these places.”

Okay that’s a fair point. Stiles huffs his agreement and follows Derek. They creep along the hillside, crouching down to keep out of sight. They’re almost all the way around when their cover is blown.

“Who goes there?” A man demands with authority.

Stiles and Derek step forward with their hands up. Stiles lets out a sigh of relief when he sees that the man questioning them is in fact a guard.

“I’m Stiles and this Derek.”

The man narrows his eyes to slits and looks like someone pissed in his mead.

“What business do you have entering Winterhold?”

Stiles looks to Derek for help.

“Dragons.” Derek whispers, almost inaudible.

“We have news of dragons; the Jarl needs to hear about it.”

The guard has a hushed conversation with his peers then sets his stony gaze back upon them.

“Jarl Lydia has not been informed of any visitors.”

Jarl Lydia? What are the odds of two Lydia’s being in Winterhold? Of course Lydia would be the Jarl, Stiles wouldn’t expect anything less of her.

“It’s urgent sir. Citizen’s lives are at stake.”

The guards look reluctant and weary.

“Alright fine.” The guard bites out, “but if I hear of you causing trouble you’ll be banished immediately.”

Stiles lets out a whoop and runs past dragging Derek along with him. One their back on the path he lets out a relieved sigh.

“You never said your friend was the Jarl.”

Stiles is impressed with            Derek’s attention to detail. “That’s because I didn’t know about it. But I’m also not very surprised by it.”

“So tell me more about this mysterious Lydia.”

Talking about past crush with present crush, which is a weird concept that Stiles is now involved in.

“Well she was popular in Whiterun. She’s a scholar and a mage, and apparently also a Jarl, She had men propositioning her every day. But she was courting this lad, Jackson. He ran away after being turned down by the companions and around the time the war started. He wasn’t very nice. Anyway she left Whiterun around 6 months ago to study at the College of Winterhold, wanted to be the best mage she could be. I wasn’t aware becoming the Jarl was a part of being a mage, but hey what do I know?”

Derek is staring at him with amazement. “Wow, she sounds like something alright.”

“You have no idea.”

They continue walking for a bit when a thought hits Stiles.

“You know a lot about me, but I don’t know much about you. What’s your story?”

Derek seems to tense up with that.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too.”

“No. No, it’s only fair that I tell you something too.”

Derek seems to sift through his mind for a decent story to tell.

“My family all died. Well, they were killed actually, by this group called The Silver Hand. Actually not all of them died, my uncle Peter got away, but I think he went mad and ran off somewhere. Anyway, we used to live up in Solitude, that’s where I’m from. I left after my family died, but even if that hadn’t happened I would have left to get away from the corrupt Empire.”

“Man, your life has been rough.”

“Yeah, but it’s better now. I joined the companions and now I have a new family.”

They keep walking for a bit when a courier runs up to them.

“I have a letter for Derek Hale.”

“That would be me.”

The guy holds out a letter and Derek takes it cautiously.

“They said to meet them in Riften when you make your way there, but other than that, that’s it.”

The courier runs past them and off to his next delivery.

“Who’s the letter from?”

Derek’s frowning down at the letter so Stiles’ mind is running rampant with assumptions.

“It’s from Boyd and Erica.”

“What’s it say? Anything important?”

“Nope, nothing important.” Derek is blushing a little, “I walk all the way to Winterhold, and they still manage to judge my life choices.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Stiles isn’t buying that crap. He snatches the letter from Derek’s hands and reads it quickly.

‘ _Derek we see you leave town with a milk drinker and you don’t even say goodbye, we are offended by your rudeness. But we’re assuming you’ve run off to elope the boy, we hear he’s the Chief Guard’s son, Whiterun wishes the new couple well. But seriously Derek, that boy looks like he couldn’t even lift a dagger to defend himself._

_You’re Friend, Erica_

_Derek, I am so sorry for everything Erica just wrote. But what were you thinking, running off with the Chief Guard’s son? I know you have a martyr complex, but this ridiculous. We’ll see you in Riften so we can meet this boy. He’s that one who was always begging you to tell a story isn’t he?_

_Sincerely, Boyd’_

Stiles isn’t sure whether to be offended or to just burst out laughing, so he just hands the letter back to Derek.

“You have strange friends.”

Derek grumbles, “They’re not my friends.”

“Then what are they?”

“Adoptive siblings I can’t get rid of.”

They leave it at that and keep heading towards Winterhold. They pass a lot of people on the way too, and not just Nords. There was an Orc, a few Redguards. And a couple of elves. Most of them didn’t look like travellers, in fact they mostly looked like merchants and farmers.

“Do you think we’re heading the right way?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “Why do you ask that?”

“I thought Winterhold was the city that fell into the sea. There shouldn’t be this many people walking to and from a crumbling city.”

“Good point.”

As they approach the city Stiles feels his jaw slipping open. He expected to see a few log houses and some pathetic ruins of cottages. Winterhold is not the crumbling city that suffered in The Great Collapse. No, Winterhold is a growing Empire, probably bigger than Solitude which is the capital of Skyrim. There are rows of sturdy houses that look to be made of the finest materials, and the streets are bustling with people of mixed races. There are merchants selling all sorts of things and bards singing to be heard by everyone. But the most astonishing thing is how people are walking freely to and from the College which has been shunned since The Great Collapse.

“I think your friend has been busy.”

Stiles glances around city which is practically glowing with its riches.

“I think she’s starting her own Empire.”

 


	4. Keep Your Arrows In Your Quiver, Archer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jarl and the Huntress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Cass for being my lovely beta reader
> 
> All coments are welcome

 

Lydia likes sitting on her throne, she’d be lying to say she didn’t, but sometimes she feels like something is missing. She has a moonstone circlet resting atop her fiery red hair, a powerful staff of flames to rule with and an entire city in the palm of her hand. She is also in complete control of the College of Winterhold and is the most powerful mage in all of Skyrim. What more could she want?

Her pondering is interrupted by her steward. The only reason she has a steward is because she needs someone to deal to petty matters she doesn’t have time for, and to inform her of things.

“M’lady there’s a woman here to see you.”

Lydia has not been informed of any visitors so whoever is here to visit her must not know how things work in Winterhold. Only an outsider would be foolish enough to step foot in the Jarl’s palace without first being granted the privileged consent.

“What is her business?”

The steward looks weary, which is unsettling in itself as she is a High Elf.

“She’s here to collect a bounty.” Her words hang in the air with untold caution.

“There’s something more. What are you not telling me?”

“I must warn you Jarl Lydia, she is unlike anyone I’ve encountered before.”

Lydia rises from her throne and strides forward, her icy blue gown flowing behind her like an elegant tail. She stands before her steward and stares up at her with dangerous curiosity in her emerald eyes.

“Well, then you must not have had many encounters.”

She shifts past the steward and sweeps down the halls, all her guards standing to attention. Lydia may be a Nord but she is quite short, shorter than even some of the elves, but her power is tall and no one dares to look down upon her. She stands before the doors to the lobby and feels a thrill of excitement she hasn’t felt in a long time.

Opening the doors with grace and intent she scans the room for her target. It would take a blind man to miss the bounty collector, standing out like an elf in a Nordic ruin. The woman is leaning against the far wall next to the exit; protected by light hide armour and armed with a hunting bow. She seems fairly normal, with her Imperial features, dark brown hair in a braid over her left shoulder, and strong dark eyes that have clearly seen more than they’d have liked. Lydia mentally ticks her off as a normal bounty collector, until she sees what the woman has with her. In the woman’s left hand is a pike, a thick sharpened tree branch, being idly held up by her pale fingers. The pike in itself isn’t very alarming, but the head gouged with it is. Lydia is grateful that this woman cleaned up all the blood before dragging the gruesome accessory into her palace.

“And what title this head once hold?”

The woman looks up and spares a moment to survey Lydia; unfortunately for the Jarl her face is unreadable. Those dark eyes met her own and oddly enough show no fear or even the slightest hint of gratitude. Lydia has yet to discover the huntress’ motives.

“Bandit Chief. His reign of terror on your hold’s roads has met its end.” She holds herself a little higher, clearly proud of her work.

“Clearly. Well I ought to pay you then hadn’t I?” She snaps her fingers and a guard appears with a hefty coin purse filled with 500 gold. “To whom do I thank for this service?”

The woman takes the coin purse and tucks it into her satchel. “Argent.”

Lydia is well aware there is no need for first names, but is still surprised by the gesture. The intent of refusing her first name is curious and Lydia can’t help but find herself intrigued.

“Is there a first) name to accompany that of long ago word for silver? Or perhaps you deem me not worthy.”

The Argent woman holds herself strong and shows no signs of cowering into submission. Whoever this woman is she is not cut from the same cloth as most.

“I mean no disrespect, but you are not my friend nor my ally so I see no reason for you to need my name.”

Lydia can feel a fury rising in her gut, and if this woman isn’t careful she’ll feel the full brunt of its force. But the fact that this woman dare act this way is also what has Lydia restraining herself. This woman could be useful, very useful; she’s only been here less than an hour and has already proven herself better than any of her citizens. Lydia is a strategist at heart and a promising opportunity is standing defiantly before her.

“You are fully aware of whom you speak to, so your lack of manners and abundance of defiance is no accident. If you were anyone else I’d have you thrown in jail purely for dignity’s sake. But you are not anyone else, nor are you like them. You clearly have some importance whether it is legitimate or of your own belief I am not sure. So mysterious Argent the huntress, why are you in Winterhold and what do you want?”

Lydia allows herself to smile smugly at the shock that dons the woman’s face. But alas her pride is short lived when Argent opens her mouth clearly back by an army of answers and possibly some inquiries.

“I am here for the same reason as everyone else that rolls into this city. I just need somewhere to stay away from the war. I can provide the city with meat and pelts and if my skills are needed for other tasks, so be it.”

Lydia isn’t stupid; she knows the woman is lying about why she’s here, but she takes pity, because in these dark times terrible things happen and no one wants to talk about it. All the things Lydia has ever been taught are telling her to banish the woman for the safety of the greater good, but this dangerous woman is probably in more trouble than she will cause.

“If you wish to stay here, do you not want to know where I stand with the war?”

Argent nods, and Lydia suspects she’s only humouring her.

“This war is only between two sides, the Empire and the Rebels. Skyrim is made of more than two sides, and when battle sweeps across the land what happens to everyone else? So I sent out word that Winterhold is a safe haven for anyone and everyone who wishes to get on with their lives without having to become some forgotten corpse of collateral damage. So if you enter my city with any intentions driven by that foolish war you can see yourself out.”

A laugh is not what Lydia expected when she began her speech, but she also does not know what to expect of the huntress.

“I have enough personal wars; I don’t need seem political dispute to add to my troubles.”

The huntress spins on her heel and saunters her way up to the doors. Lydia notes that the arrows Argent is carrying are of ancient Dwarven craftsmanship. Lydia is about to storm back to her throne when the woman calls out.

“One last thing, it’s a bit personal but I find it necessary for your ears.”

Of course she wouldn’t just leave the palace like a normal person either.

“Your leadership is flawless, your control impeccable, the city’s trades are the highest they’ve ever been, and your crime rate is near nonexistent. You, Jarl Lydia Martin, are powerful, intelligent and undoubtedly beautiful.”

“Why the sudden flattery?” Lydia is enjoying the pampering, but there has to be a point to this sudden change of attitude.

“Doesn’t it get lonely?”

The huntress doesn’t look back, she only waits a few mere moments for her words to settle and then she’s out the door.

-

Lydia is left pacing in her throne room alone. Argent’s words swirling around her mind, growing stronger with every thought. The girl had struck a nerve. A nerve that Lydia wasn’t even aware she had. Lonely. Of course she’s lonely, she hasn’t seen anything close to a friend for 6 months. How had she been so ignorant of her own emotions? Lydia is all too aware that if she dwells on this too much for too long it will diminish her and everything she stands for.

Her thoughts are interrupted for the second time today by her steward.

“What is it this time?” She bites out.

“Two men are here to see you.”

“Tell them I’m busy, I don’t want to deal with anyone until tomorrow.” She slumps down into her throne massaging her temples.

“They come news of dragons.”

Lydiaboltsupright. Leaping from her throne she straightens out any creases in her attire and runs down the hall. She bursts through the doors into the lobby in the least graceful fashion she has ever mustered. Her eyes lock on a familiar face and she frowns despite herself.

“Stiles! Why aren’t you in Whiterun?” She skips the formalities, because the boy standing before her shouldn’t be alive if he walked to Winterhold.

“Hello to you too Lydia. Or should I say your highness?” Stiles is grinning goofily, and Lydia has missed his stupid face.

“So who’s the attractive man in your company, and what is this about dragons?”

Stiles blushes and flusters about in his trademark fashion. It’s a miracle the lad still has his two legs.

“This is Derek.” The man himself nods, “He’s a companion and is my loyal protector for my travels.”

As much as Lydia would love to question how that little arrangement came to exist she’d got more pressing matters to deal to. She just nods to cue Stiles to explain these tales of dragons.

“Dragons are coming back. We’ve only seen one so far and we killed it. Turns out I’m the last Dragonborn and am the only one who can save us from The End Times.”

Lydia has heard many unbelievable tales in her time but this one comes out on top. She clasps her hands together and looks directly at Stiles.

“Stiles you have to understand that if what you say is true, then every choice you make is important. The world is we know it, is in your hands, and you have to do everything you can to save it. This is your responsibility now and you have to accept it with courage.”

Derek tries to step forward, clearly aiming to object, but Stiles holds out his arm to stop him. Stiles whispers something to him, and the man steps back a frown now firmly in place. Stiles just nods solemnly at Lydia’s words but says nothing to explain Derek’s actions.

“Anyway, you wish to explain how Winterhold doesn’t exactly look like it was involved in The Great Collapse at all?”

Lydia is all too willing to discuss her success. She has achieved more in the last 6 months than most people ever hope to amount to their whole lives.

“It’s quite simple really. I arrive in town, and settle in at the College. I master magic in all its forms and classes and take on the roll as archmage. I make myself known around town by helping the citizens. The previous Jarl dies in an unfortunate accident and I am voted to take the throne. After that all it took was spreading word and getting contacts to the best resources. I rose the city from its snowy ashes like a phoenix of ice.”

Stiles shakes his head in amazement. “Well Derek and I will be staying at the Inn, since everything seems to be in order here we’ll just be relaxing.”

She watches them leave and can’t help but wonder how their alliance works. Stiles did not know this Derek when she was still in Whiterun. If Stiles had known Derek earlier he would have started travelling a long time ago, which can only mean that they have not been acquainted long. Lydia knows that Stiles is aware that his companion is aesthetically gifted, and Derek is clearly more than a pretty face. She’s not sure why, but Derek being here with Stiles it’s unsettling something in her memory, something forgotten.

In her discomfort Lydia rushes to her library and runs her fingers frantically along the rainbow of spines. Her finger stops on a black book, it’s been read countless times and it shows by the lack of dust on its cover. She sets the book down on her desk and sits down before it. The silver dragon on the front, the symbol for the Empire, lays out on the cover in all its foreboding importance. She flips to the back of the book and holds her hands out. With barely a whisper she casts a revelation spell over the back cover. What many people do not realise about The Book of Dragonborn is that there is a hidden passage printed only for those who seek it.

‘When a wolf is forged in fire a hero does not walk alone

When a thief is lost then found

When a dark brother recognises a flame

When a shadow steps into the light

When The World Eater meets a wolf

A bleeding heart can end the world’

Lydia’s hands are shaking as she slams the book shut. The prophecy is mostly riddles to her, but the first line howls loud and clear. Stiles is the hero and Derek is the wolf and neither of them walk alone. Lydia has been certain that this hidden prophecy was just circumstantial tale ever since she found it, and she’s probably still right. If Stiles had ventured on his quest alone it could play out very differently, but once the first blade strikes a battle must follow.

She will tell no one of this, she will not interfere and she will not worry. When you can do nothing worrying is a foolish waste of time. So she decides to work on the next problem on her agenda. Argent. She needs to find out who this woman is. Luckily for Lydia, royalty has its perks. She simply sends her people out to find out whatever they can and to report back tomorrow morning.

This night she goes to bed in the hopes of restful sleep and a clear head when she wakes. She gets neither. Her dreams are filled with fire and death, and her mind is racing the second she awakes.

-

The morning brings good news. Lydia’s people have found out a lot about the huntress and it’s all written out and ready for her to read. She quickly has some breakfast before rushing down to the library to pour over the bundle of new information. The papers tell her everything she wants to know in great detail.

First of all her name is Allison. She’s from Markarth. Her family are the infamous Silver Hands. Her archery skills are excellent. She has a bounty on her head for attempted murder on her aunt Katherine.  She fled Markarth never to be seen again, her family has been looking for her ever since. The bounty doesn’t concern Lydia in the slightest. Each hold tracks its crime separately, and one incident isn’t very worrisome. Besides she’s from a Silver Hand, that family has got to have some issues.

Upon reading this information Lydia ventures off to find Allison. She’s strolling down the street when she spots the huntress at the archery range. Holding her head high, Lydia saunters over to the fence around the range.

“Allison Argent, the girl on the run.”

Allison lowers her bow and whips her head around. She looks petrified, like a deer in face of a sword.

“Don’t turn me in.”

It’s not even a question, because there’s no asking when it comes to one’s life.

“Why would I do that? I could use a fine archer like you. You are smart too, and you are not like everyone.”

“What do you want then?” Allison redraws her bow and starts firing at the target.

Lydia raises her eyebrows, impressed, as all the arrows hit the centre circle.

“I’d like you to be my thane, it’s an honourable title.”

Allison doesn’t even flinch or turn to face her, she just continues to puncture the target.

“I don’t want to be your second in command.”

Lydia steps back, confused and shocked. “What do you mean you don’t want the title? Anyone else would kill for it!”

Allison lowers her bow with a sigh. She walks over to her target and retrieves her arrows. After all her bows are back in her quiver she faces Lydia with a tired look.

“You said it yourself; I’m not like anyone else. And Lydia, I just want a place to call home.”

Allison turns away and walks off towards the Inn.

Lydia stares after her. Why wouldn’t Allison want to be her thane? If Allison becomes her thane then she gets her own house, it can be the home she wants! Maybe Allison just doesn’t like Lydia. That thought hurts more than it should. Lydia shouldn’t care so much about some random girl’s opinion, but she does. Oh how she does.

-

Later that day Lydia meets Stiles in the tavern. She meets him at an empty booth and sits across from him. It’s an odd sensation, sitting across from someone who has the fate of the world at his fingertips.

“What’d you want to talk about Lydia? Because if it’s got anything to do with me being Dragonborn you can forget it.”

Lydia sighs and rolls her eyes. “No it’s not that.” She’s almost reluctant to ask for help. “I’m having trouble, with this girl.”

Stiles perks up, obviously because Lydia doesn’t have trouble with anyone that she can’t deal with.

“Who has the all powerful Lydia Martin not knowing what to do? I’d like to meet her and give her a medal.”

Lydia just shakes her head with a grimace. “Allison Argent. She showed up in town yesterday to collect a bounty. She’s a skilled archer, intelligent and is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. She stands up to me, questions my authority and turned down my offer to make her my thane.”

Stiles whistles low. “Wow. She sounds like a fighter, sent by the divines to destroy everything that stands in her way.”

Lydia would not be surprised if that were true. “So what am I doing wrong?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Technically nothing. What do you want from her?”

Lydia loathes admitting to something she’s failing at. “I want her to stay here in Winterhold. I want her to be my thane. I want her to make sense to me. I want her to stop running. I want her to be happy. I-“

“You want her.” Stiles cuts her off with a smirk.

“What?”

“You want her. Plain and simple. You said it enough times just with a little explanation.”

Lydia doesn’t try and correct him, partly because she will not admit to it and partly because she knows he’s right.

“What do you suggest I do?”

Stiles laughs. “Oh wow. Lydia Martin, asking for my help getting a girl. Well, from what you’ve told me, I think she just wants to be your equal. But I also think she needs to know that you care, and then you gals can work it out from there.”

Lydia can do that. She can show Allison she cares. If she drives her away and Allison gets hurt because of it, she’ll never forgive herself.

“I’ve got my guards to leave you a gift from me in your room.”

Stiles grins excitedly and runs off to claim his prize.

-

The next morning Lydia gets up and starts looking for Allison. But she’s nowhere in sight. She’s not at the archery range. She’s not at the Inn. She’s not at the markets. She’s not in the college. She’s not anywhere. Lydia starts briskly walking through the city in search of the huntress. She’s about to give up when she spots Allison walking out of Winterhold.

Lydia runs to catch up with her.

“Allison! Wait!”

Allison’s shoulders slump and she turns around. “What could you possibly want from me now?”

Lydia holds up her hands in defence. “I’m sorry.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry for treating you like a weapon, like something to be used. I wasn’t thinking properly and you are not an object okay. You are a person. A fantastic person. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met before, and I’m not saying that as some kind of sneaky persuasion.”

Allison lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not going to be your thane.”

“You don’t have to be thane! Not if you don’t want to. I want you to be my equal. I want...” Lydia lets out a groan of frustration, “I just want you to stay. Please.”

‘Why do you want me to stay? If I’m not your thane or anything of the sort, what good to you am I then?”

“This isn’t about me.” Lydia pulls at her dress nervously. “You said you wanted a place to call home. I know a home isn’t always a place. There’s a home for you here, in Winterhold, if you want it.”

Lydia dares to look up and she’s glad she dared. Allison is smiling, and it’s a beautiful smile. So beautiful she might even have to create a saying about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Keep Your Hands To Yourself Sneak Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek enter The City of Thieves. A wedding, a murder and a dragon attack; just another day being a legendary hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UnBeta'd
> 
> Sorry this took so long guys, I've been busy. But thank you for all the feedback and support.
> 
> All comments welcome :)

Stiles is absolutely thrilled at the news of Allison’s crowning ceremony. He’s been relaxing in Winterhold with Derek for the past week, and has been admiring the openness to magic within the community. As soon as he hears that Allison is going to be a Jarl alongside Lydia he can’t help but be proud, especially since this is the first time there has ever been two Jarls in one hold.

He steps in front of Derek, who is currently sitting in the corner of their shared room with a book.

“How do I look?” Stiles asks, he does a quick spin to show off his new armour. Lydia had gifted him the well fitting leather armour and a red hood. The belt on his armour has a silver dragon emblem engraved into it, and Stiles thinks it’s a beautiful masterpiece.

Derek looks up from his book and his eyebrows do a weird little dance. Stiles feels his stomach drop with anxiety for what Derek thinks.

“Is it too much? I don’t suit the warrior look do I?” Stiles stares down at himself and frowns at his leather boots.

Derek jumps to his feet. He grips Stiles shoulders, “No. It looks great. You just took me by surprise, I didn’t think I’d ever see you in professional gear.”

He beams at Derek and hugs him. “Thanks.”

-

They stand before the steps to the Jarl’s palace with the rest of the city. Allison is standing next to a pair of thrones, wearing an elegant silver gown. The crowd is buzzing with excited conversation. Every goes silent when Jarl Lydia appears holding a circlet and a staff. She approaches Allison and nods at her.

“Today Winterhold receives a blessing, the honour of having two jarls. I bestow this honourable title to Allison Argent skilled huntress, a great woman, and a dear friend. Allison, do you accept this title?”

A grin takes over Allison’s face, “Yes, I do.”

“Then I give to you this ebony and amethyst circlet, and this staff of lightning as a symbol of your rule over Winterhold. We are honoured to have you as our Jarl.”

Lydia places the circlet atop Allison’s rich brown hair, and hands her the silver staff. The crowd cheers as their two jarls wave and turn to enter the palace.

As everyone’s leaving Stiles is grinning like a fool. Derek sighs.

“Why have you got that look on your face?”

Stiles giggles, “I helped set that up.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Of course you did. Okay we should probably move onto the next hold now.”

Stiles goes through his mental list. “Riften!”

Derek freezes for a second, “We’re taking a carriage.”

“What, why?” They’d already walked between several holds and managed just fine, why is Riften any different?

“The thieves’ guild operates in Riften; I don’t want to risk being robbed.”

Stiles sighs, “Fine, but paying for a carriage is just like being robbed.”

-

The carriage ride takes a full day and Stiles sleeps through most of it. Although it is a costly way to travel it is a lot safer and definitely quicker. They arrive at Riften stables around noon. As they approach the city gates a guard stops them.

“Halt! If you want to enter the city, you have to pay the fine.”

Derek growls. “This is a con. Step aside or the Jarl will hear about this.”

The guard startles and steps back, “Okay okay! Just keep it down alright. I’m opening the gates now.”

Derek grumbles and pushes the guard aside; storming into the city and Stiles follows along. Stiles runs to catch up to him.

“How did you know it was a scam?”

Derek rubs his temples. “We’re in the city of thieves Stiles; everything is a scam.”

They head into the local tavern, The Bee N’ Barb, and saunter up to the bar. An Argonian woman talks to Derek about drinks, when Stiles remember s something.

He leans in to whisper to Derek, “Hey, didn’t your friends’ letter say to meet you here?”

As if on cue a sly voice calls across the room. “Derek! Get your grumpy ass over here!”

Derek flinches and spins around to greet his supposed friend. Stiles turns around to see who the infamous Erica is. What Stiles sees is not what he expected. Erica is a short blonde Nord, wearing hide armour that accentuates her body perfectly.

Erica gets a grip on Derek’s ear and drags him to a table in the back corner where Redguard man is sitting quietly, Stiles presumes this is Boyd.

Erica sits down next to Boyd and Derek sits across from them. Stiles cautiously slides into the seat next to Derek, feeling a bit out of place. Erica is staring him down like a blood hound.

“So, you’re the boy that seduced Derek away from Whiterun.” She says it in such filthy way that Stiles feels violated all of a sudden.

“My name is Stiles and I didn’t seduce him. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I mean, have you seen me?”

Erica raises a brow. “I have Stiles, and you could seduce Derek and make him your perfect little man slave if you pleased.”

Derek lets out an indigent noise next to him, and Stiles feels his face heat up. Stiles looks to Boyd, who is just looking vaguely bored.

“Erica you didn’t just call me here to wind up my friend, what do you want?”

Erica grins wolfishly at the pair of them. She wraps and arm around Boyd’s waist and pulls him in close.

“We’re getting married!”

“That’s great Erica. I’m happy for the both of you,” Derek smiles, then turns to Boyd, “And good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

Erica leans across the table and flicks Derek’s nose.

“So I want the both of you to attend our wedding tomorrow.”

Stiles is surprised to say the least. He’s just met them and they already want him at their wedding. “Are you sure? I mean you just met me.”

“Of course. Derek trusts you and that’s enough for us.”

Stiles grins and stands up, pulling Derek up with him. “Well I’m honoured. Derek let’s leave the happy couple to enjoy the evening before their wedding together.”

Stiles drags Derek all the way out of the tavern and into the street. He sits down on a bench and lets out a laugh. Derek raises an eyebrow in question as he sits down next to him.

“I just can’t believe it. Today’s been great. First a crowning ceremony. Then a wedding announcement. What next?”

Derek looks like he’s about to answer when he frowns. He spins around quickly and rags someone to stand before them by their hand.

“Think you can pick my pocket- Cora!”

“Derek!”

“You’re alive!” They shout in unison.

“Can someone please tell Stiles what’s going on?”

The girl, Cora, leans against the wooden railings across from them, she motions for Derek to explain.

“Stiles, this is my younger sister Cora. I thought she’d been killed with the rest of our family a long time ago, but apparently not. She’s also apparently a thief, which she will be getting a lecture on later.”

“I had to do what I had to, Derek, you should understand that.”

Derek sighs.

Cora steps forward and puts a hand on her brother’s shoulder, “I lost my family, so I found a new one. Looks like you’ve done the same. So who’s this? You’re mistress?”

“I am not his _mistress_!” Stiles scoffs and crosses his arms.

Derek rolls his eyes, “Cora, this is Stiles. He’s the son of the Chief Guard in Whiterun, and he’s the Dragonborn.”

“Really?!”

Stiles grins smugly. “Yep. I can shout, absorb dragon souls and slay the flying beasts even though it shouldn’t be possible.”

Cora stares wide eyed at him. “Wow. You really know how to pick ‘em don’t you Derek?”

Stiles stands up and stretches. “Well I’m going to take a look around the city. Why don’t you two take some time to reunite and figure out this family business?”

“Are you sure?” Derek stands up and searches his face for something.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Family’s important, go talk to you sister.”

-

Stiles is wandering around the market place when someone calls out his name.

“Stiles!”

He spins around to see Scott walking towards him with Isaac in tow.

“Hey Scott! What are you guys doing here?”

Scott and Isaac grin at him. “We decided to travel. Besides all anyone talks about in Windhelm is the war. So how’ve you been?”

“Good! Saw Lydia. Did you know she’s the Jarl of Winterhold now, _and_ the Archmage of the College there?”

Scott stares at him wide eyed. “How-? Actually I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.”

Stiles turns to Isaac. “So, how’s life with Scott?”

Isaac flushes a bit, but grins. “Good, great actually. We’ve had some bonding experiences,” Isaac bumps his side lightly against Scott, “Hey Scott, I’m going to look for my friend’s now. You stay here and chat with Stiles alright?”

Isaac heads off towards the Been N’ Barb, leaving the two of them standing in the market place.

Stiles smirks at his best friend. “So, I see you’re wearing your amulet of Mara.”

Scott nods nonchalantly. “Yep.”

“It’s Isaac isn’t it?”

Scott’s calm demeanour breaks and he’s grinning like an idiot. “Okay yes. He’s charming and brave and he genuinely cares about me. And I care about him and, Stiles I’ve never felt these feelings before!”

Stiles chuckles and pats his friend on the back. “That’s love Scott. You only ever feel it for someone special.”

Scott frowns like a confused puppy. “How do you know that? Stiles, are you in love with someone?”

“What? No! That’s ridiculous.  There’s no one _that_ special in my life right now. Besides, I’d never be that special to someone.”

Scott snorts. “I beg to differ.”

“What? You know someone who loves me? Who is it? Don’t hold out me man!”

Scott grins. “You’ve been mooning over a particular warrior for a while now Stiles, and he’s staring at you right now.”

Stiles whips his head around frantically searching for who in oblivion Scott is talking about. His eyes lock with Derek’s, who is sitting with his sister on a bench. Derek quickly turns back to Cora, and Stiles turns around to face Scott.

“Derek? No way. You’re insane. Derek doesn’t love me. He couldn’t. If anything he’s annoyed with me. I’m waiting for the day he just pushes me off a cliff to shut me up.”

Scott sighs. “You’re a real skeever butt, you know that? First of all, I just want to point out that you didn’t deny mooning over him. Secondly, of course he likes you; he wouldn’t have agreed to follow you all over Skyrim if he didn’t.”

Stiles grumbles and sighs. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s just found his sister who he thought was dead, so he’s a bit preoccupied. And besides I’m supposed to be some legendary lone hero.”

He realises it’s grown dark and stares up at the deep navy blue sky and the twin moons. “Well, it’s getting late, and I have a wedding to attend in the morning.”

“A wedding?”

“Yeah. Derek’s friends, Erica and Boyd are getting married.”

Scott’s face lights up. “No way! Isaac’s friends with Erica and Boyd. I’ll see you there!”

Stiles grins. Wow it’s a small world. He wonders how Isaac knows Erica and Boyd. Probably used to live in Riften or something. Stiles bids Scott a goodnight and heads for the Inn for a some much needed rest.

-

In the morning Stiles and Derek get ready to attend the wedding. It’s not very polite to attend a wedding in armour unless you’re a guard, so Stiles and Derek change into some fancy garments. Stiles is donned in a red tunic and a brown fur coat, while Derek is in a green tunic and grey fur coat.

Stiles looks down at his attire with a grin. “I’ve never been this well dressed before,” he does a little a twirl to watch the fine fabric sway, “I don’t look like a wolf in sheep’s clothing do I?”

Stiles looks up for Derek’s approval, but his companion seems to be caught off guard by something.

“Derek?”

Derek faces him suddenly. “I’m fine, just what you said...Never mind. Let’s get going, don’t want to be late.”

They arrive at the Temple of Mara and there’s already a large crowd inside sitting in the pews.  Stiles and Derek sit down next to Scott and Isaac. The ceremony unfolds as per usual and everyone’s celebrating with joy.

Erica and Boyd take time to talk to the guests and thank the priests. Stiles can’t help but smile at the happy couple. Stiles turns to Derek to see the man already smiling at him.

“They look so happy. I bet they’ll have cute children.” Stiles comments idly.

Derek’s face contorts a little. “Their children would be the worst trouble makers to ever live. I only hope I’d never have to look after them.”

Stiles laughs and takes a big swig of wine. He swishes his goblet around a bit while thinking to himself. “You know it’s kind of ironic that the temple for the goddess of love and compassion is in the city of crime and corruption.”

Derek frowns a bit at that. “There has to be a light in all darkness, even if it’s just an ember.”

Stiles nods thoughtfully. The peace is suddenly interrupted by a guard bursting through the temple doors. He looks around at everyone in extreme haste.

“She’s been murdered! Grelod the Kind has been murdered!”

Everyone rushes out of the temple running through the streets. There’s screams, gasps and whispered gossip. Everyone sprints out towards the orphanage. Scott grips Stiles upper arm and drags him with the flow of the crowd.

“Who’s Grelod the Kind?” Stiles yells at Scott.

“She’s the extremely unkind old lady who runs the orphanage.”

They stop with the rest of the crowd outside the orphanage. A pair of guards are blocking the door to the wooden building and keeping everyone away from the scene of the crime. Stiles looks around for any sign of what exactly happened.

He spots a flash of purple next to the far window. Looking closer Stiles notices that it’s a bunch of wolfsbane flowers pinned to the wall with an ebony arrow. Stiles tugs on Scott’s sleeve earnestly.

“It’s the same person. The same one who killed Isaac’s father.”

Scott looks up at the taunting flowers and gasps, he then frowns and stares off into the distance.

“What is it?” Stiles knows that look; it’s Scott’s thinking face.

“Whoever did this, they’re not a murderer.”

Stiles shakes his head, “I’m pretty sure the dead lady inside begs to differ.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Scott puffs a gust of air out of his nose, “Yes they killed two people, but they weren’t very nice people. And killing isn’t the only thing they’ve been up to. People have had lost things returned to them for no reason, and attached to their lost items was a wolfsbane flower.”

Stiles frowns. “Are you telling me that there’s some kind of anonymous vigilante doing good deeds and marking their work with a flower?”

Scott takes a deep breath, “Yep. And they already have a name. The Shadow Wolf.”

-

Stiles spends that afternoon sitting on a bench with Derek at his side. Stiles told Derek everything that Scott had told him. None of the information seemed to bother Derek too much, apart from the wolfsbane being involved and the new hero being called The Shadow Wolf.

“Something doesn’t feel right about all this. If you were doing good deeds, why wouldn’t you want to be recognised?”

Derek sighs, “Maybe they’re in hiding.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Stiles looks off towards the orphanage. The wolfsbane is still there, no one dared remove it. The colouring of the wood next to the flower looks a bit off from where he’s sitting. Stiles stands up and squints at the patch of wood next to the flowers.

“Derek, do you see that?”

Derek stands up and follows his line of sight. “See what?”

Stiles steps forwards. “That darker path of wood, right next to the flowers.”

He takes off running towards it. He skids to a stop right in front of the wall. A black ink handprint glares at him from the wall. Stiles hesitantly reaches his hand up to touch the black ink of the evil looking mark. The symbol is cool and wet beneath his finger.

“It’s fresh.” He whispers.

Derek halts right behind him.

“The Dark Brotherhood.” Derek gasps in fear.

“They’ve been here, recently. They must be pissed that someone killed Grelod before they did.”

-

They pack up their gear and get ready to leave Riften wearing full armour and weapons at the ready. They walk out the front gate and wave farewell to the guards. They hop in the back of the carriage waiting outside the city.

“Where’d you like to go?” The man asks them.

“Dawnstar.” Stiles says with grin.

A deafening screechy roar crawls through the air. Stiles looks up in horror to see a dragon circling the sky above them.

“Why now?” Derek grumbles.

They unsheathe their weapons and stare up as the silver scaled beast soars towards them. The city guards holds their bows at the ready and start flinging steel arrows at the beast. The ground shakes as the winged lizard lands on his clawed feet.

The dragon bares its teeth like a row of swords. As the beast opens its unrelenting mouth Stiles charges forward with his sword and buries it in the flesh of the dragons throat. The beast screeches in agony and whips its tail around to knock the stable boy off his feet and send him flying into the city wall.

Derek sprints past Stiles and leaps onto the monster’s head. Gripping the dragon’s horns, Derek balances himself on the dragon’s head. He raises his sword above his head and brings it down on the beast’s skull with a nauseating crack. The dragon staggers and Derek picks up his sword in time to thrust it into the dragon’s left eye.

Stiles sees the opportunity and pulls out his small iron dagger. He holds the dagger out before him and charges at the dragon’s face, the dagger pierces the dragon’s eye with a sickening squelch

The beast roars and whips its tail around in fury. The dragon flaps its wings and gnashes it’s teeth. Derek starts to lose his balance on the dragon’s head, but he uses one last clumsy swing to slash the beast’s throat.

The dragon crumples to the ground like a crumbling tower and Derek is thrown from its head. Stiles watches in horror as Derek’s body collides with ground. He rushes to his companion’s side. Kneeling down he cradles Derek’s head in his hands.

“Derek?”

Derek stares up at him with glazed over eyes. “I’m....fine.”

“And I’m a fair maiden. Just sit still and let me heal you.”

Stiles holds his hands out over Derek’s chest and concentrates until a warm yellow light flows from his hands and towards Derek’s wounds. The light glows and sparkles as Derek’s wounds are sewn together.

Stiles helps Derek to his feet and they looks around to survey any casualties. The guards all look fine and the carriage driver is still sitting in his carriage. They look for the stable’s boy and find him in a crumpled heap next to the city wall.

As they approach the lifeless body they notice the man in charge of the stables kneeling next to the body and weeping. Derek holds Stiles back by his hood, and all Stiles gets in explanation is a serious solemn face.

They brush themselves off and get back in the carriage. Stiles stares after Riften as it vanishes behind them. He can’t stop thinking about the dead stable’s boy. If only he’d done something different he’d still be alive, and hat man wouldn’t be grieving. He never even learnt his name.

“Stop it.”

Stiles spins around to face Derek. “What?”

“Stop blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault, and there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“But-”

“Stop.” Derek doesn’t say it harshly. He says it sadly if anything.

 “Why didn’t Cora come with us?”

Derek doesn’t look up at Stiles. “She has a life in Riften, not an honourable one, but a life all the same. I’m not going to take her away from that.”

Stiles nods. He doesn’t really know what to say to that. How do you comfort someone who thought their sister was dead, found out she was alive, but can’t see her?

They sit in silence and await their arrival to Dawnstar. Stiles just hopes they’ll have a peaceful visit. No dragons, no rogue vigilantes, no assassins, no grief.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. A Guard Could Get Nervous, A Man Approaches With His Weapon Drawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travelers need to take a break every now and then, even if it's in the freezing snow and assassins are suddenly interested in your business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, but school's back on for me and homework and having barely any friends is stressful, plus my brain keeps thinking up new fic ideas
> 
> unbeta'd all mistakes are my own

A rouge snowflake dances down from the sky and lands on the nose of the sleeping Dragonborn. Stiles stirs awake, the sudden stinging coldness disrupting his peaceful slumber. As his amber eyes flutter open he realises that the carriage has arrived in Dawnstar. He turns to Derek and shakes him awake.

“Get up, we’re here.”

Stiles climbs out of the carriage and slings his bag over his shoulder. Once he’s standing firmly on the snow ridden ground he takes a moment to observe his surroundings. There isn’t much to see of Dawnstar, mostly just log cabins and a ton of snow. But what does catch Stiles’ eye is the small camp just outside the poor excuse for a city.

One of the campers is standing just out of view, behind a tent, but Stiles can see that they have a tail and feline ears. Memories of books he’s read supply him with the information that these campers must be the cat people the Khajiit. Their race lives in the hot dry lands of Elsewhere.

“Derek? Why are they camping out here, when there’s an Inn just a minute’s walk away?”

Derek slings his bag over his shoulder and looks up, frowning at the Kahjiit camp.

“The cities don’t trust them, so they don’t let them inside. They have a bad reputation of thievery.”

Stiles scoffs. “That’s hardly fair. Plenty of Nords start wars, but they still let them get involved in politics.”

Derek just nods and grumbles his way towards the Inn. Stiles runs to catch up.

“But aren’t they cold camping in the snow? I mean their homeland is like fire bolt in comparison to Skyrim.”

Derek shrugs, pushing the door open to the Inn. They step inside and are immediately embraced by warmth. The Inn is no different from every other Inn in Skyrim, there’s plenty of Mead, a warm fire and cosy beds for those willing to pay.

“Their homeland is apparently a lot more dangerous though. So maybe it’s actually an improvement.”

Stiles hates being hopeless to matters like this, where he can only watch and wish for change.

They book a room and decide it’s going to be cheaper if they just share a bed. After leaving their bags in their room they head back to the lounge room and find a small table at the back of the room. Stiles orders them some mead, which they quickly drain from their tankards.

Derek’s almost drifting off after only two pints of mead. Stiles is surprised and a little disappointed, he never thought Derek would be such a light weight.

“I-I’m gonna hit th-the hay, o-okay?”  Derek manages to say somewhat coherently. The Nord stumbles across the lounge and into their room. Stiles laughs as he watches him go.

He sits back in his chair and sighs at the ceiling. Stiles never wanted a life this extreme, where everyone is relying on him. He just wanted to be a local hero, and have a caring lover to come home to. Now he wouldn’t even be able to court someone without fear of them getting hurt, or them simply hero worshipping him.

He decides to write his father a letter to pass the time.

_Dear Father_

_How’ve you been? I hope the war isn’t giving you too much trouble. I hear that Whiterun is still on its feet, and still undecided. Don’t think you can live off of sweet rolls while I’m gone, I tipped off the guards to keep an eye on you._

_Derek and I are okay. I’m assuming you’ve heard about the dragons by now. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m the Dragonborn. If you don’t know what that means, just ask one of the Nords. And don’t worry I haven’t been injured so you won’t have to lecture Derek, in fact he has been more injured than me. But he’s still in one piece and I got to practice my healing magic, so it’s a win-win._

_Stay safe, and keep a look out for a vigilante called The Shadow Wolf, they pissed off the Dark Brotherhood._

_Your Loving Son_

_Stiles_

Stiles held out his letter and grinned at his penmanship. A piece of parchment unrolled in front of his face, and his smile shrivelled up and died. His stomach tied itself into a knot and his throat closed up. The parchment, only just avoiding touching his face, has a bold black handprint on it, and two words printed below it.

_We know._

Stiles starts shaking, awaiting a sharpened blade to be pressed to his throat, but it never comes. Instead, the parchment is rolled up and a man, clad in black and red, saunters around the table. He sits in the chair opposite him, his face is concealed by a shawl, and he props his feet up on the table.

“What do you want?” Stiles whispers, his voice surprisingly steady.

The man pulls his arms up to rest behind his head, clearly making himself comfortable.

“Surprisingly, not what I usually go outside for. I’m not here to assassinate you if that’s what you’re worried about. Well not unless you don’t tell me what I want to hear.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “What do you want to hear?”

The man’s face may be concealed, but Stiles can tell he’s sneering. The assassin drops his feet to the ground, and slams a hand on the table. He leans forward, right into Stiles personal space.  If it wasn’t already intimidating enough, Stiles feels the sharp press of a blade at his hip.

“I want to know why you’re always in the same place The Shadow Wolf strikes.”

“What? I’ve only been in 2 places where something has happened!” Stiles hisses, he doesn’t want to draw attention in case the man decides to kill him for it.

“Oh really? Then explain why the day you were leaving Whiterun, a little girl received a threatening note to stop her bullying, with a sprig of wolfsbane attached? Or explain how while you were in Winterhold when a mage got his long lost staff returned with wolfsbane tied around it?”

Stiles eyebrows shoot up. “Hey, I didn’t know anything about any of that! Derek can vouch for me!”

The man seems stumped by this. “Derek? You’re travelling companion?”

“Yeah. He barely leaves my side.”

“Then why has he left you now?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Because he drank too much mead and needed some sleep.”

“What is his surname?”

Stiles frowns. “Why do you need to know? He’s not The Shadow Wolf either, I can vouch for him.”

“What. Is. His. Surname.” That wasn’t a question that was a threatening demand.

“Hale. His surname is Hale.”

The assassin pauses, he seems to be thinking something over. The blade at Stiles side disappears, and the man leans back in his chair. He removes his shawl, and Stiles can see that he is a Nord, with a small beard, and sneaky blue eyes. Those same eyes seem to question Stiles’ existence.

“Why is my nephew travelling with you?”

“Nephew?”

The man’s mouth twitches, “Name’s Peter Hale. I’m Derek’s uncle. Hello.”

“But his family died!”

Peter furrows his brows at that. “Yes they did. But some of us survived, we just never reunited. Our family was never the best at communicating.”

Stiles can’t believe this. It’s like The Hale’s should be some tyrannical crime family. “You’re family is terrifying. One of you is an assassin. Another is a thief. And I got stuck with the most normal one, who is a brutal warrior.”

Peter grins. “We’re scarier than you know. I don’t know who you’re referring to as a thief, because I still don’t who survived, but I can guarantee it isn’t Laura, or Talia.”

“Laura? Talia?”

“Derek’s sister, and their mother. Talia was my sister.”

Derek lost a lot of family, Stiles doesn’t know how he’d cope if he lost that many people. Losing his mother had been enough for him.

“So, should I go wake up Derek, and tell him that his Uncle isn’t dead and is here to see him?”

Peter inhales sharply, “Better not. I’m in no mood to hear him judge my life choices. Besides he wouldn’t appreciate me trying to tell you the family secret.”

“Family secret?”

“He hasn’t even hinted at it yet has he? He was never good with words. Let’s just say our family was murdered for a specifically unnatural reason.”

Stiles scrunches up his face. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Ask Derek.”

“I am not asking him anything until he is sober.”

Peter grins wickedly. “You know I’m still not sure why he’s following you all of Skyrim. He never does anything like that out of kindness. And if he wanted to kill you, he would’ve done it by now.”

Peter stands up and saunters towards the door. He looks back at Stiles over his shoulder while putting his shawl back on.

“You must be special.”

And with a gust of wind, Peter disappears into the shadows. A shiver rides down his spine, and Stiles feels more unnerved than he has ever felt in his life. Peter is the creepiest Hale he has met so far, and the first assassin. Stiles really needs to have a talk with Derek about his family, and about why he’s travelling with him.

He picks up his letter to his father and hands it to the barmen to hand to a courier. Stiles makes his way to their room, and grins at the sight of a sleeping Derek. He looks so peaceful when he’s not worrying about anything. Stiles climbs into bed next to the sleeping warrior and falls asleep peacefully.

*

He’s awoken suddenly at an ungodly hour. He blinks his eyes a couple of times trying to clear his blurry vision and identify what awoke him. He sits up and looks down to the let and sees Derek tossing and turning, his face screwed up in anguish.

Panicking Stiles tries to shake him awake. “Derek,” he whispers, his voice shaking a little bit, “wake up. It’s just a dream.”

Derek’s eyes fly open and scan the room in fear. When his eyes land on Stiles, he sits up and pulls him into a rib crushing embrace. Stiles is taken by surprise with the sudden show of affection and a warm tingling sensation travels up his spine.

He wraps his arms around Derek and rubs his hands across his back soothingly. “Shh. It’s alright, it was just a dream.”

Derek buries his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck and shakes his head. “It was a freaking nightmare.” He mumbles.

“But it’s over now. I don’t know about you, but I can’t sleep now. Do you want to go outside?”

Derek’s brow furrows in confusion, “What could we possibly do outside? First of all it’s too early for all the shops to be open, and secondly this is Dawnstar. Nothing happens in Dawnstar.”

Stiles grins evilly. “Not true. It snows in Dawnstar.”

Derek takes a few seconds to register what that means. “You want to play in the snow?”

“Duh. Snow is awesome, and we don’t see it in Whiterun very often.”

Derek sighs, but he nods anyway. Stiles lets out a cheer and runs to get dressed. In mere minutes his leaping over the steps and landing in the freshly fallen snow. He sprints around to the back of the inn and falls back into the freezing ice.

He lets out a laugh and starts making a snow angel. Derek walks around the corner and pulls an unimpressed look at Stiles actions.

“You do know that the snow is the reason most Nords leave Skyrim?”

Stiles did know that. That’s why there had been a guard shortage in Whiterun last winter.

“Yeah, well they’re all milk drinkers. And I’m stronger than any Nord!” Stiles puts on a mock gruff voice and lets out little war cry.

“Oh really?” Derek cocks an eyebrow

Stiles leaps to his feet and crosses his arms firmly. “Absolutely.”

Without any warning Derek sprints forward and tackles Stiles into the snow. He yelps in surprise and glares up at Derek’s smug face.

“I wasn’t prepared for that.”

Derek smirks, “So if I do it again you won’t fall over?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Might be.” Derek’s voice is teasing.

“Then you’re on.”

They both get to their feet and put a fair bit of distance between themselves. Stiles puts on a power stance, and plant his feet firmly on the ground. He holds out his arms ready to take Derek’s weight.

“Ready?”

“Yes!”

Derek runs forward and Stiles braces himself for impact. At the first sign of Derek hitting him he leans all his weight forward, and pushes with all his strength. His eyes slam shut on instinct. When he doesn’t feel the chill of ice beneath his back he slowly blinks his eyes open to see Derek’s smiling face.

“Huh? Maybe you were right. Maybe you are stronger than any Nord.”

Stiles can’t help the grin that takes over his face. He takes a warriors stance and wields his sword in the air.

“I Stiles Stilinski, just defeated a mighty Companion!” He whisper screams and pretends to be the cheering crowd.

Derek laughs, and Stiles thinks he’s found his new favourite sound. Derek should laugh more often. Why doesn’t Derek laugh more often? He can’t still be feeling the extreme hurt of loss, could he?

“Isn’t that sweet. Giving the boy a confidence boost by holding back. He did tell you he was letting you win right?” A creepy voice remarks from the shadows.

Stiles doesn’t take the words to heart, because he’s too busy freaking out over who that voice belongs to. He thought Peter Hale had left Dawnstar, but apparently he was wrong.

“Dear nephew why haven’t you told him yet? Surely if you’re fooling around like children at 3 in the morning he deserves to know your little secret.”

Derek’s scowling with a mighty force at the shadows. “I thought you were dead.”

Peter steps out of the shadows his arms spread wide in a ‘well here I am’ fashion. “Don’t change the subject Derek.”

“You know why I haven’t told him.”

“No I don’t. Because even with all your trust issues and lack of friends, you still invested all the trust you had in family. And you treat this boy like family.”

Derek seems stunned by this. Stiles decides to confirm his presence, because it is rude to talk about people when they are right there.

“Hey. I am right here you know? And why are you still here Peter, I thought you had left?”

“You’ve seen him?” Derek is clearly gritting his teeth.

“He showed up last night when you went to bed. He threatened me with a dagger to give him information about The Shadow Wolf. But when I mentioned you he revealed himself. Oh, and he’s in the Dark Brotherhood.”

Derek whips his head around to Peter. “You threaten my friend, and join up with an assassin group, and then you expect me to just chat with you!”

That wasn’t a question that was an outraged statement. Stiles has a feeling that Peter has always been doing crap like this by the sound of irritation in Derek’s tone.

“Am I the only normal one in this family?”

Peter grins, “Well according to Stiles here you are. Now which of our relatives that somehow survived is a thief?”

Derek grumbles. “Cora.”

“Well she’s being ambitious isn’t she?”

Stiles still can’t believe this is an actual conversation happening before his very eyes.

“Not that this won’t make a great tale to tell, but can Peter just leave and go back to his dark business?”

“I second that.” Derek crosses his arms.

“I’m wounded nephew. But I’ll leave the happy couple alone. Just tell him the truth Derek, before you can’t.”

After that ominous and threatening order he disappears into the shadows leaving an uncomfortable vibe in the air. A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine, and he quickly shakes off the uncomfortable feeling.  He desperately wants to ask Derek what Peter was on about, and what happened to his family, but it just feels like one of those things that you don’t just ask someone.

“I’ll tell you soon, I promise.”

Stiles looks up to see Derek wearing a desperate expression. He looks conflicted and restless.

“When?”

Derek sighs and takes a few seconds to come up with a reasonable answer. “On the road. I can’t tell you this when we’re around other people.”

Stiles bites his tongue and nods. He wants to push the subject, but he knows Derek has his reasons for being so vague. He sighs in defeat and plops himself down in the snow. Leaning back he stares up at the colourful lights pained across the sky. The swirls of green, purple and yellow are a magic all of their own.

Derek silently sits down next to Stiles, leaning into his side. They sit silently together as the stars fade away and the sun slowly starts to rise.

“I know that the thing you have to tell me has to do with how you took out a clan of bandits alone, and that you scared away a wolf. I also know it’s probably a family thing.”

Derek tenses, but he steels himself and listens.

“And I know that because of all that it should be a bad thing. But it can’t be, because you’re not bad Derek.”

Derek scrunches up his face a little bit, and Stiles wants to hit him for thinking badly of himself.

“I’m not good. I probably wouldn’t be here right now if I was good.”

Stiles wants to ask what the hell that means when he realises. “This has to do with the thing you have to tell me, doesn’t it?”

Derek just nods and frowns at the ground. He shouldn’t frown, Stiles’ thinks, it’s upsetting to look at and Derek deserves to smile.

“So where are we going next?”

Stiles grins. “Morthal!”

“No one should sound excited about saying that. It is the poorest city in Skyrim. They don’t even have merchants there!”

Stiles just laughs, because they are not going there for trading and prosperity.

“But they apparently have vampires! And they live on a swamp, so there’s lots of mud crabs everywhere.”

Derek looks disturbed, “There is nothing good about either of those things.”

“Depends how you define good.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Have you seen those Redguard Warriors with their curved swords. Curved. Swords.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journey to Morthal. And Derek finally tells Stiles the big secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see notes at the end for any concept you don't understand, and if it's not there then just send me a question :)
> 
> Also sorry it's been so long, but I'm actually getting shit done this year for school so you know...

Stiles can’t stop his nervous jittering as he and Derek walk down the cobblestone road. He wants nothing more but to ask Derek to tell him his family secret, but he knows better than to do that. Besides he often has to lie about his mother’s ethnicity, because people do not take kindly to other races or the idea of them mixing. He knows Derek will keep to his word so he bites his tongue and tells himself to be patient.

As they get closer to Morthal the snow fall is significantly less and the land is actually visible. There are deer running about and trees standing over the forest like guardians. Actually, Stiles knows of tales about guardians of the forest.

“Have you heard of Spriggans?”

Derek furrows his brow. “Vaguely, I’ve heard the name before. But I don’t actually know anything about them.”

Stiles grins, he loves telling people stuff, maybe he should become a scholar. “The Spriggans are said to guard the forests. They protect the tress the land and the creatures that dwell there. They are similar in shape to men and elves, but instead of flesh they are made of entangled wood like a tree, and they have a green aura of magic that surrounds them. Actually it’s more like their life force than their aura, because they use it to fuel spells, and it disappears when they die. They’re green life force also apparently looks like a swarm f bees.”

Stiles turns to face Derek to see how he’s taking the information and the Nord’s face looks both amazed and concerned.

“So all those mysterious dead hunters in the clearings...?”

“Yep. Most likely Spriggans.”

Derek seems to mull this over for a while. “Do you think they are unnatural? Since they are not man , elf or divine god?”

Stiles frowns, he has no idea where that question came from. “Of course not. They belong in Skyrim and on Nirn for that matter, as much as anyone. Sure they’ve taken lives, but really they are maintaining balance, if they don’t protect the forest, who will?”

Derek still seems a bit on edge. “So you don’t think they’re monsters?”

“No. Why do you ask that?”

Derek eyes his feet as they march forward, “It’s related to the secret I need to tell you.”

Stiles can’t hold back his curiosity anymore. “Can you tell me now? I mean no one’s around, unless that elk over there can’t know about it. Please?”

Derek sighs. He quickly checks to make sure absolutely no one is around. “Promise not to freak out?”

Stiles physically feels his eyes widen. “I promise.”

“I won’t hurt you. Remember that okay?”

Stiles is speechless, how do you respond to that? So he just nods vigorously.

Derek takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders. He curls into himself slightly, and Stiles watches in awe as his back muscles shift dramatically and his skeleton visibly shifts. Thick tufts of black fur sprout all over his body, and he grows in height and in torso width. Derek’s face stretches into the form of a muzzle and fangs peek out over his lips. His whole head is identical to any wolf. The last few things Stiles notices is that he has grown claws on his now massive hands and feet and he is sporting a tail.

Stiles stares up at Derek his jaw slack and his throat dry. Every instinct he has is telling him to run and hide, but the knowledge that the wolf before him is Derek makes him stay. Hesitantly he holds out a hand and Derek bows his head pressing into the warm touch of Stiles’ hand. Stiles lets out a shaky breath of relief and laughs hysterically.

“This actually makes sense. So much sense. But you didn’t really need to hide this from me you know, since I’m mister dragon soul.”

A rumble of happiness erupts from Derek’s stomach. The wolf lets out a howl and shifts back into his human form. Stiles is suddenly extremely aware that his hand is now pressed against Derek’s bare chest, and that the rest of him is also bare. He recoils his hand and covers his face in record speed. Apparently in his earlier observations he had missed Derek’s armour piled on the ground at his feet.

“Is the nakedness a werewolf thing, or a you thing?”

Derek huffs out a laugh around the sound of metal clinking. “A werewolf thing.”

“I’ve read a lot about werewolves. I’ve never encountered any of you before, but somehow I just always knew that you guys were real.”

“You seem to be that way about most things.”

Stiles grins, because yeah that’s exactly how he is.

“I’m decent now, uncover your eyes.”

Stiles removes his hands from his face and is slightly disappointed to see Derek in full armour again.  They continue down the road, Derek telling Stiles about the history of werewolves and Stiles making curious inquiries.

Now further down the road they hear the sounds of a commotion. A tipped over carriage and scattered belongings on the road ahead makes a bold image to the two travellers. Derek holds out his arm to stop Stiles from running towards trouble.

“Wait here.”

“I don’t think so. I’m stronger than I look and you know it.”

Derek sighs, “Believe me I know. I was just hoping to avoid worrying about you for once.”

Stiles smiles fondly, “Sorry, but you know that was a big part of this travelling deal.”

Derek returns his smile. “I know, that’s why I accepted it.”

A flash of purple lightning catches their attention. They quickly wield their weapons and run into the concealing forest. Stiles’ feels his heart ache at the sight of a dead merchant sprawled next to the upturned carriage. A rouge mage is suddenly visible and is being fought off by a merchant with a pathetic iron dagger.

Derek charges forward with his new steel sword and lashes out at the mage. The mage, a High Elf, is taken by surprise and is thrown to the ground by the force of Derek’s attack. Stiles quickly sprints over to the merchant to see if she’s alright.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Stiles gently grabs her by the shoulders and leads her back to the road. The sounds of combat fade into the background, Stiles tries not to worry about Derek.

The merchant, who is also a High Elf, shakes her head. “I’ve lost a lot of blood, and the shock magic is still in my system.”

Stiles gets her to sit down next to a tree so he can inspect the damage. She has four slashes on her middle torso, they’re all quite deep and are bleeding copious amounts of blood.  Stiles applies pressure to the wounds while he attempts to inspect the magical damage. Magical damage is difficult to see, since its effects aren’t visible without some kind of special sight. But he can feel the electrical energy flowing through her veins, attacking her blood cells and her heart.

“Okay, your flesh wounds aren’t too bad just a bit of blood loss. But there’s a strong force of electrical energy in your blood stream and I’m going to need to do something about that, but the thing is I’ve never done anything like that before so please bear with me.”

The girl just groans and shoots him a pleading look.

“I can do this. It can’t be too difficult right? Just heal the flesh wounds as normal and then absorb the electrical energy. Simple. Hopefully.”

Stiles holds out his hands and watches as the warm yellow light of his healing magic knits the gaping wounds back together and heals the flesh to prevent scarring. He concentrates on his breathing and tries not to strain himself with the long process. After a few minutes the girl’s stomach is completely healed, spare the blood stains.

Now onto the magical wound. Stiles grips her shoulders with shaking hands and closes his eyes. He takes deep slow breaths and concentrates on the hostile magic he can feel. He clutches onto the violent purple force and pulls it into his own power. The force of it strains his head, but he tugs and tugs until the damaging energy is stored away in his own supply.

He lets out a sigh of relief and falls over from exhaustion. The last thing he hears before passing out is a distant “Thank you.”

 

***

Stiles wakes to the heat of a camp fire and to the sight of Derek cooking. As he sits up he finds that he has been neatly tucked into a bedroll. Derek looks up at the sound of him struggling to wrestle his way out of his comfy prison.

“Good you’re finally awake. You should stay in the bedroll; I put a lot of effort into preventing you from freezing to death.

Stiles wipes his eyes and looks up to see the sky is painted with red and purple. “How long was I out?”

“A few hours.”

“Where’s the girl?”

“I fixed her carriage. She’s heading back home to have a proper funeral for her friend. She says you saved her life.”

Stiles grimaces. “Yeah, I did. I absorbed the electrical magic that was going to slowly kill her.”

Derek frowns, obviously the idea of Stiles doing something so dangerous and stupid bothers him.

“I know me risking my life for others doesn’t sit well with you, but that’s not going to stop me from doing it.”

Derek huffs out a sigh, “I don’t know how your father coped with raising you.”

“I don’t think he does either.”

Stiles watches the flames of the campfire flicker and dance. He can see the appeal in destruction fire magic. If he was more inclined to magic he probably would become one, but apparently being the Dragonborn is where his destiny lies.

“If we leave now we could make it to Morthal before dark.”

Derek mulls this over for a second. “Alright lets go.”

They put out the fire and pack up their things.  As they walk along the road, shadows of the trees gets longer and longer, and the forest gets more ominous and threatening. Stiles tries not to think about all the scary vampire stories he’s read. He tries.

Derek walking on his left side makes him feel safe from all possible threats in that direction, but nothing is guarding his right side so he feels that the forest might just swallow him whole when Derek blinks. He doesn’t even understand his fear, not really. It’s not like he’s been a naturally skittish person. In fact, he was the one always doing the dangerous things while Scott worried about them getting caught. Stiles gets his audaciousness from his mother, she had been a free spirit.

He’s only just realising how easily he’s accepting Derek being a werewolf. It’s not like Stiles is ignorant, he’s actually very perceptive. But for some reason he seems to have not developed the basic instinct to fear a predator. Although, Derek isn’t a normal predator, he’s incredibly human.  The only major difference is the whole turning into a giant wolf, and being connected to Hircine, the Daedric Prince of The Hunt and man beasts. A spark goes off in Stiles’ mind.

“Since you’re a werewolf, does that mean you’re connected to Hircine?” Stiles can’t help his curiosity.

Derek stops walking to stare at Stiles. He’s got this special look in his eye, it’s something like ‘Stiles-how-are-you-even-a-person-and-why-would-you-ask-that.’

“Yes. Why are you asking?” Derek doesn’t hide his weariness very well.

They start walking again. “I was just wondering if, when you die, you would go to Hircine’s realm and join the eternal hunt.”

Derek doesn’t tense like Stiles expected him to, he just lets out a tiresome sigh.

“Yes, I would. I don’t have a say in the matter, my wolf will get dragged into The Hunt if I do not go willingly anyway.”

Stiles frowns, Derek doesn’t sound like he resents the idea, but he doesn’t sound altogether fond of it either.

“The same thing is going to happen to me, you know. I’m going to end up in Sovngarde whether I like it or not. Would I even be accepted there? How can I, a Bosmer, belong in grand hall of Nord heroes?” He asks his voice hysterical. Stiles voice drops to a sad whisper, “I just want to see my Ma again.”

Stiles doesn’t realise what’s happening at first, but Derek is pulling him into a hug for comfort. He finds it’s an odd thing, being hugged by a man who barely ever offers human contact. The hug does cheer him up, so he returns the offer and wraps his arms around his favourite werewolf.

Stiles steps out of the hug to look at Derek.

“Wait, is your uncle Peter-?”

“Yes.”

Stiles shudders dramatically, “That makes him even scarier. A werewolf assassin. What next a seductive priestess?”

Derek huffs out laugh, “You’d be surprised.”

Stiles holds up his hands in defence, “I don’t even want to know.”

**********

The two moons are high in the dark sky by the time they reach Morthal. The two travellers are tired and wish for nothing more but a bed. They both let out sighs of relief at the sight of the small town on the swamp. It’s difficult to call it a town really; there are no merchants and barely any residents. But Stiles and Derek could use a little less people though.

As they stumble towards the inn an ominous glowing light catches Stiles’ eye. He tilts his head and wanders towards it. Derek doesn’t notice his absence until Stiles is standing beside a pine tree on the opposite side of the road from the inn.

“Stiles! What’re you doing?”

A weird ringing noise seems to be coming from the glowing light. “I think I found something.”

“Leave it. Let’s get some sleep, I’m too tired for any more unnecessary nonsense.”

Stiles huffs out a laugh, but ignores Derek’s advice. He crouches down and pulls the pine branches out of the way to get a look at the unknown thing. What he finds is a teal plant that looks like a weed, except that it’s glowing and emitting a ringing noise.

“I found a nirnroot!”

Even from the distance and in the dark, Stiles can see Derek’s eyebrows furrow. Stiles rolls his eyes and turns back to rare plant. He’s found an alchemist’s jackpot and he doesn’t even dabble in the craft. Why couldn’t he find something useful to him, like a lore book or a restoration tome?

Derek eventually gives into his own curiosity and ambles over to see what Stiles is up to. The werewolf is so tired that he looks intoxicated, Stiles can’t hold back his grin.

“What’s a nirnroot?”

“It’s a rare plant. Alchemists use it in poisons and this one brewer uses it in his wine. I wouldn’t trust anyone who drinks that wine.”

Derek looks down at the glowing plant and spends a few moments processing what Stiles told him. “So if it’s rare, that means it’s valuable too right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then we should take it with us, and sell it to an alchemist when we find one.”

Stiles raises both his eyebrows. Derek makes a valid point. He shrugs and bends down gripping the nirnroot at its base and yanking as hard as he can. The plant comes out of the ground easily, roots and all, the glowing and ringing get cut off.

Stiles pockets the plant and flings his arm around Derek’s armour clad shoulders. He pats him on the back and enjoys the confused look on Derek’s face.

“That was a really good idea. Come on; let’s go pay for a room at the inn.”

**********

There’s no one inside the inn, spare the innkeeper and a bard. There’s a warm fire which both Stiles and Derek are grateful for. They both amble up to the bar and greet a tired looking Redguard woman.

“Room for two?” She asks eyeing them both curiously.

Stiles eyes the curved sword hanging from her hip wearily. He’s heard about the fearlessness of Redguard warriors, and he reminds himself not to cross her.

“Yes please. This one’s about to fall asleep, and I’m not dragging his heavy ass to bed.”

She chuckles, and scoops up the coins that Stiles’ hands over. The woman points out their room before wishing them a goodnight.

Stiles nods at the bard as they pass him, and he nods back. Stiles notices that the bard is an Orc; which is odd since Orc’s usually only ever specialise in blacksmithing and battle. Stiles makes a mental note to ask the bard about himself in the morning.

Stiles leads Derek into their room and gently lowers him to the bed. Derek, of course, doesn’t help with the situation by being all sleepy and giggly. Stiles just sighs and starts removing Derek’s armour piece by piece. Once Derek is just in his breeches, he tucks him into bed.

He starts removing his own armour when Derek speaks up.

“Thank you.” His voice is so hazed by sleep that Stiles almost doesn’t understand what he said.

“What for?”

“For accepting me. For saving my life...For treating me like a person.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that stuff. You just have to return the favour every once in a while.”

Derek huffs out a laugh. “But I want to.”

Stiles feels his heart clench, and his face heat up. He turns away from Derek and tries to suppress his huge smile. He doesn’t.

**********

Stiles doesn’t sleep that night. He wishes it was just because of Derek snoring like a horker, but really his mind won’t let him. He can’t stop thinking about the fact that Derek will go to a different afterlife than him. He also can’t stop thinking that Hircine has claim over  Derek’s soul. It’s unnerving that a Daedric prince pretty much has Derek on a loose leash, but there are worse out there than Hircine.

He turns and stares at Derek’s sleeping face. It’s strange looking at such a peaceful human face knowing there’s a wolf in there that will hunt for all eternity. But then, Stiles thinks, it’s odd looking at him, the skinny Breton boy, and knowing there’s a dragon in there that will spend eternity in Sovngarde.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daedric Prince: A god like spirit that cannot be killed and had no morals. 
> 
> How the afterlife works in Skyrim is very ambiguous, but basically there are a lot of different afterlives you can end up in depending on your life choices.


End file.
